Captain My Captain
by Isabeau of Greenlea
Summary: Chapter 53. The Promise. The dinner with Faramir continues, and this story finally ends. Now Complete!
1. The Pelennor Fields

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Mr. Tolkein's wonderful characters, I'm just borrowing them for awhile, for my own amusement. I'm not making any money from this, and suing me would be a waste of time, resources and legal fees--unless you like payment in horses, Shetland Sheep and Shetland Sheepdogs! Hethlin and Lorend are my characters, as are sundry fictional horses, who are far more useful and less decorative than my real-life horses.  
  
Slash Warning: There is no slash in this fic. That's right, no A/L, B/L, M/P, F/S, A/C, D/C, U/P/S, etc. For those of you who are repelled by fics in which two gorgeous, hunky men don't get it on, the back button's in the top left corner. (I've got nothing against slash, I've read and enjoyed several well-written examples, I just don't write it. Yet. Sorry.)   
  
Author's Note: I've tried to achieve a Tolkeinish sort of feel to this, without trying to parrot him exactly (which usually ends badly), and apologize if it slips tonally in places. This is my first fic, and the first thing I've written in a long time, make of that what you will. Three guesses who my favorite character is!  
  
Captain My Captain  
  
by Isabeau  
  
I  
  
We watched the Darkness rise up over the crest of the mountains, and our hearts felt the chill of a long-expected doom fall upon them. But we were the Rangers of Ithilien, soldiers of the greatest Captain of Gondor, and there was work to be done. We gathered about him, silent, bows and spears to hand, and waited upon his orders. Anduin murmured in what should have been the morning light, and we could dimly see Cair Andros, a darker shape in the grey gloom.  
  
Faramir lifted his head and looked eastward, his rough-cut black locks stirring in a sudden, fitful breeze. Those fine grey eyes, piercing enough to wrest the secrets from ancient texts or a man's soul alike, looked as distant as if he sought, as some said his father the Steward did, to compel the very Enemy himself to reveal his strategems. After some moments he sighed wearily, the lines bracketing his mouth deepening, his knuckles whitening briefly on the hilt of his sword. Always sensitive to his moods, I watched and waited, knowing what he was going to say next.  
  
"Ithilien has fallen," he declared, looking around at all of us in turn. "Not by any fault of ours, my friends. No one could have been more forward or fell in battle than the Rangers of Ithilien, or more cunning and crafty against our larger Foe. But we have known all along that what we did here was but a delaying action, and now the long-awaited time has come. The Enemy comes in great force, and we may not oppose His armies here. Our strength is best spent in defense of the White City herself. Anborn, you will lead the Rangers down to Osgiliath and join with the forces there. I must go to Minas Tirith and report to the Lord Denethor. How many horses have we here at present?"  
  
"Four, my lord," said Barathen, whose charge it was to care for them. "Your own Teilyn, and the three courier mounts. Unfortunately, one of them is that stunted, misbegotten, black-hearted stud that Hethlin rides." Despite the grimness of the hour, chuckles ran around our company, and the Captain smiled as he looked over at me. My heart gave a rather painful thump, and I smiled shyly back.  
  
"Then Hethlin at least must ride with me. Hethlin, Mablung and Lorend. May the Valar guard and guide the rest of you. I will return as soon as I can." And he moved among them with an arm-clasp here and a shoulder touch there, as Barathen saddled Teilyn the tall and beautiful, and the three of us he'd chosen prepared our mounts.  
  
Arcag's rear hoof lashed out at me as I approached, and his ugly head snaked around more than once, seeking my flesh as I saddled him. He was not one of the horses we'd brought from Minas Tirith-I'd pulled him from the burning barn of an orc-raided farm. It was said among the Rangers that the fact that the orcs themselves would have nothing to do with him, including eating him, should have been a warning to me. He was dirt brown in color and scrawny, with a skinny neck, huge head, and a ratty tail upon which little hair grew. Why he was still a stud was a mystery, though perhaps it was simply because no one could get close enough to him to geld him. Any self respecting Rohirrim would have shot him at once, and fed him to his hounds. His vices were many and his virtues few. He bucked, he reared, he bit and kicked, both people and horses, and would roll in a stream or rub you off on a tree given a moment's chance. He was hard-mouthed, rough-gaited and surly to an extreme.  
  
Still, he was a horse, and I'd been happy to be mounted again. And I discovered over time that he did have some good points. Arcag was strong, incredibly enduring, faster than he looked, and could live on next to nothing. And he was fearless. Orcs, large or small, he took as a personal insult, and he would bear me even right up to the side of a Mumak, which most horses will not endure. Because the Mumak is covered with tough and armored hide, the only way to kill one is to shoot it right in the eye, but that is difficult to do on foot, for though they are vast and mighty, they are also swift, and you have their huge feet and their noses, which they also use like great clubs, to deal with, and the trees and limbs which they trample in their passage can trip you up or fall upon you. If you can shoot well from horseback, and can find the rare horse that will close with a Mumak, the deed becomes almost possible. Arcag and I had two Mumak to our credit.  
  
I slung the Haradrim short bow that had given me my battle name on my back with a full quiver of arrows, and gave Arcag a hard knee to the belly. When saddled, he always sucked in air till his belly looked like some puffer fish from Lebinnin. He oofed, and I tightened his girth swiftly, avoided the inevitable snap with a boot to his nose, and swung on. Mablung tossed me a spear, then mounted his own horse, and once the Captain and Lorend were up, the four of us set out. Behind us, Anborn called out an order and the Rangers started south down the river, trotting at a pace they could keep up for hours, and that would cover more ground than one would believe possible. We went even more swiftly in their advance, heading for the Fords of Osgiliath, from thence to cross the Pelennor Fields and make our way towards the Tower of Guard.  
  
We walked and trotted and occaisionally galloped, and only the miles unrolling beneath our horses' feet gave indication of the passage of time, for all was dark and drear above us. Our spears we kept ready, and our eyes traveled continuously, for we were all warriors, and the same thought had occured to us all-- that the Sun was no longer a hindrance to the Enemy's soldiery and that there might be scouting parties even now in advance of us. When we slowed to breathe the horses, our vigilance did not slacken, but we used the opportunity to speak to one another, mostly of simple things. Mablung and Lorend talked much of what they would do after the War-the trades they would return to, the wines they'd quaff, the women left behind who would welcome them home. I thought a victory over the Dark unlikely, but their stories cheered me nonetheless. I questioned the Captain about the Halflings, wanting to know if he'd ever read or heard of anything about them before we'd encountered them, and what he thought their chances were, travelling East with that skulking creature they'd acquired. But he had little he could or would tell me.  
  
"Other than the rhyme which came to me in my dreams, I'd never heard of them before," Faramir said quietly. "And the rhyme was so vague that I did not know if a Halfling was a person, a monster, or some other creature. I certainly never came across any mention of them in the libraries, and Mithrandir never mentioned them during his visits. Though I have no doubt he knew all about them, and would have been just the person you should have questioned, Hethlin. And I would certainly like to have been there when you did !" His eyes suddenly twinkled, which I was very glad to see, for it had been long since there had been much of mirth about him., but then he sobered just as quickly.  
  
"Frodo said that Mithrandir had fallen while journeying with them. That is ill news indeed, if it be true."  
  
"Not everyone would think so, my lord," said I, greatly daring. It was common knowledge among the Rangers, though we did not discuss it in the Captain's hearing, that his association with the wizard Mithrandir was a small but significant part of the estrangement between himself and his father the Steward.  
  
"No, not everyone would," my Captain agreed.  
  
"Will you be the Captain-General of the armies now, my lord?"  
  
"Yes. With Boromir absent, it falls to me to take his place." His face grew grim as he thought once more upon the vision he'd had nearly two weeks ago, of his brother dead of many wounds, being carried in an Elven craft down Anduin to the Sea. There were those of us who thought his visions sent by the Valar themselves, while others at times wondered if they were not sent by the Enemy to torture him. Hurriedly, I sought to distract him, while at the same time easing a worry that had been in my heart of late.  
  
"Captain what will become of the Rangers now?" Mablung and Lorend, hearing my question, pulled up even with the Captain and myself, Lorend on my side being careful not to rein his horse too close to Arcag.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"What is to become of us when you become Captain-General? You will command the whole army, not just our company. What are we to do then? Will one of us become the new commander? Or will you set another over us? Place us under the command of your kinsman, the Prince? What are we to do in a seige or a frontal assualt? We are forest fighters, skirmishers."  
  
Faramir drew rein, turned to face us. " So many questions, Hethlin!"  
  
"Questions that have troubled all of us, my lord," said Mablung, while Lorend added, "She speaks for us all, Captain. We do not dream, yet we knew this day was inevitable. We have fought back the Dark with you these last few years, Captain-are we to be shunted aside at the last?"  
  
The Captain shook his head wryly., and looked at us. "For my part, if I have any choice in the matter, I will not be parted from my men.....my soldiers," he added with a glance at me. But anything I say may be overuled by my father, the Steward. Should he leave the decision to me, I will find armor for you all, and keep you close by me. For if this is to be the final battle against the Dark, and our destiny is to fall beneath it, then I ask no better death than the one I will find in the company of my Rangers, though even now some small corner of my heart refuses to lose hope. And as for how you will fight--I think you will find, Hethlin, that though this battle will be a different sort than you are used to, a fell warrior such as yourself will be as useful on the walls or in the fields of Minas Tirith as you were beneath the trees of Ithilien. A good archer always has a place, in any army."   
  
Mablung, Lorend and I all looked at one another and grinned, for we were all somewhat more than merely good archers, and we were greatly reassured that the Captain did not mean to leave us to another commander. Faramir merely smiled in acknowledgment, said, "Rangers, we have some miles yet to cover," and signaled us to the gallop once more.  
  
  
We crossed the Fords, passed the Rammas and entered the Pelennor Fields. Sunset was nigh, but I knew it more from the feel of the air than anything else, since the cloud cover had reached so far to the west. It looked as if we might actually see the Sun peep out from the clouds right before it set, and I was looking forward to even such a brief sight of it. As we drew near to the Gate, we urged the horses on once more, and they, sensing an end to their journey and that their suppers were near, surged forward with renewed energy.   
  
II  
  
  
They came when we were a scant half mile from the Gate. I felt them before I saw them. The short hairs on the nape of my neck stood up first, then it felt as if icy water was pouring down my back. One of them cried out, a call so full of malice and triumphant evil that it drained the very strength from my bones, leaving me clinging trembling and nauseous to Arcag's saddle. A dark shadow swooped over me, and the downdraft from a pair of mighty wings nearly choked me, so foul was the stench that it carried. If someone had taken the reek of a battlefield, unburied and left for a week in the sun, and concentrated it, it still would not have been as bad as that smell. My vision dimmed, and I swayed in the saddle. I heard horses screaming. Arcag made a funny sort of protesting squeal, pinned his ears back, took the bit in his teeth, and bolted. I could only hope that he was headed for the Gate, for I had not the strength to control him, or any way of telling where he was going. Another of the monsters screamed, but along with it another noise arose--Lord Faramir was sounding his horn. Whether he sounded it to call help from the Tower, or to rally us to him mattered not at all. Clear and silvery the call rose into the dark, and the sound of it put heart into me. My Captain was alive and well, and as usual, he'd kept his wits about him. If I could but reach him, I'd be all right too.....I took the bit back from Arcag and urged him in the direction I'd heard the horn.  
  
The creatures turned and came back around. How many were there? I couldn't tell. Four or five perhaps--at least one for each of us. Their hides seemed like that of the Mumak; thick and knobbed, they would be as difficult to penetrate with blow or dart as armor. Their vast wings were featherless and pinioned, more like those of a bat--or a dragon, if one could believe the descriptions of legend. I could not bring myself to look higher, at the black-robed forms that rode them, for they were simply too horrible and my eyes refused to fasten upon them.  
  
As the monsters swooped low the second time, Mablung and Lorends' horses, maddened beyond reason, threw them off and ran screaming into the darkness, while scoundrel Arcag bore me still, his breath coming in great, rasping wheezes. I started to rein back, Arcag slinging his head in protest, to return to the others. I could barely see a tall shape ahead that must have been Faramir, still mounted on Teilyn, who was snorting and shuddering in terror, but turning under her master's direction, back under the black wings, back to his fallen men.  
  
"Fly, my lord, fly!" I screamed. "Go on to the Gate! We'll follow as we can!"   
  
"Yes, Captain, you must leave us!" Mablung cried in turn. "They must not take you!"   
  
Mablung was back on his feet and making his way over to Lorend, who was wavering on his knees, when one of the things stooped on him. He threw himself upon his fellow Ranger, knocking him flat as the creature passed over, missing them. Two of the vile horrors swooped down upon the Captain, who drew his sword, faintly glimmering in the dark, and smote at them as they passed. Cursing under my breath , I sought to spur to the Captain's aid when Arcag leapt sideways of a sudden, screaming. He was not quite fast enough to dodge the creature that stooped on us from behind.  
  
The aura of fear the things carried with them beat loured about me as it passed overhead, its putrescent belly gleaming. I bent low over Arcag's neck, gasping and retching, and felt a giant claw rake a line of fire across my scalp. I shrieked, there was a downbeat of giant wings, and the serpentine tail of the creature lashed across Arcag's head, but a handsbreath before my face. There was a cracking sound as it impacted his skull, and he pitched forward, dead before he hit the ground. Stiff with the terror the things inspired, I was thrown over his head, and it was only by the merest lucky chance that I landed mostly on my side and shoulder, and didn't break an arm, or my head or neck as well.  
  
The fall knocked most of the breath from my body, and for a few moments I simply lay there, my hands digging into the earth as if to gain purchase. I was weeping, and pressed my face into the grass and dirt, and wished I could simply dig a deep hole, crawl into it, and bury myself to escape these awful things. Hoofbeats approached, I felt them through the ground, then I heard the roar of Teilyn's breath beneath the thunder of the wings, and my Captain's voice, calm as if we were trading tales after a quiet supper in Henneth Anun.  
  
"Up with you, Hethlin, it's time to go, and I have need of you. Can you walk?"  
  
Had he called to me in that voice from the depths of the Sea, or a tall mountain's height, or the heart of Mordor itself, I would have come. Trembling, I rolled up onto my knees, and from thence to my feet. Looking up at him, I could see that he was shuddering despite the calm of his voice, his eyes fixed on the sky and his sword at the ready. Mablung and Lorend were running up.  
  
"Aye, my lord, I can walk."  
  
"Can you run then, Hethlin? For I really think we need to leave this place." I could dimly hear, off in the distance, horns blowing calls of alarm and even the faint shouts of the guards on the walls.  
  
"Aye, my lord, I can run as well." And run I did, somewhat shakily with Mablung and Lorend, not the distance lope of a Ranger on a long journey, but a flat-out sprint towards the Gate. As I ran, I unslung my bow from my back , and groped in my quiver for an undamaged arrow, for I could hear the creatures returning, and something else as well--a deep voice crying out in a language I did not understand. With my face averted from them, and Faramir at my side, some measure of calm had returned to me. I did not know if I would be able to shoot if I turned to face them again, but I knew that I would have to try......now, for the loud beating of wings indicated they were upon us.  
  
They're tough of hide, like a Mumak, I thought to myself. No use shooting the belly or flanks. The eye's a possible target, but it's small and surrounded by bony ridges. The mouth, when it opens, or the base of the wing or leg where they join the body--the armor may be thinner there.  
  
I stopped, turned, and knocked arrow to bow. Out of the corner of my right eye, I saw a white glow from which the voice seemed to emanate, and for some reason it heartened me--till I looked up upon my foe, and the horror came upon me again threefold. For I finally crossed the glance of one of the Riders, and though it had no eyes, or even face, that could be seen beneath the dark hood, yet the malevolence of its regard turned my very bones to ice. My fingers trembled upon the string, I dropped the arrow, and it seemed to me that I could hear a hissing, mocking laughter as it dived upon my lord.  
  
Then, much to my surprise, something deep in the core of me awoke again, perhaps same stubborness that had kept me alive when my family had been slain, perhaps something else. For my parents had been Dunadain of the North, and the deep part of me seemed almost to recognize an ancient enemy. With steady hands I set another arrow to the string, and drew. Having no magic arrows, or Elven bow, I had the feeling my shot would be wasted against the Rider, so I chose my target and released at its flying mount with a shout of "Elbereth!".  
  
And as I cried that name, and my arrow sped towards its target, lightning seemed to crackle up from the ground to attack another Rider, one that seemed to be attacking the source of the light. The lightning struck the other Rider, while my arrow thudded into the base of the wing of the beast I had selected, just in front of its Rider's leg.  
  
The Rider the lightning had struck wailed in dismay, and broke off the attack. The beast I had shot staggered in the air, then joined it, flapping raggedly, along with three others. Calling their dire calls, they spiraled up into the darkness and dissappeared. Faint cheers rang out from the walls of Minas Tirith, and men from the City began to pour out to meet us.  
  
The light brightened and intensified, and I turned as the source of it rode forward to meet my lord. An old man he seemed, dressed all in white, long of beard and tall of hat, riding without saddle or bridle the most beautiful stallion I had ever seen. But something told me he was no dotard--the light seemed to come from him and shine through him, and he bore both sword and staff with the air of one who knew how to use them. Therefore, I was unsurprised when I heard how Faramir addressed him.  
  
"Mithrandir! All unlooked for, you are well come in a dark hour!" Relief was apparent on my lord's face.  
  
"Timing, Lord Faramir, is one of a wizard's greatest gifts." The wizard's eyes, set deep under bushy eyebrows, still glinted dangerously with the fire of battle as he reached to clasp arms with Faramir.  
  
"You have gifts more than mere timing, I think. I had heard that you were slain." Just for a moment, Mithrandir looked surprised; then he surpressed it with the air of one who does not like it known that he's been surprised.  
  
"The teller of that tale was in error. But I would know who told it to you."  
  
"And I will tell you, Mithrandir. But not here, not now." Guardsmen from the City were surrounding us, calling the names of my lord and Mithrandir. "We should get within the walls."  
  
"Indeed. Your father awaits your coming with much impatience." The magnificent stallion began walking toward the Gate, and Teilyn fell in beside him. The three of us followed, occaisionally having to push our way through the crowd which parted for the two of them, but then pressed inwards in the wake of their passage. There was much shouting and cheering--the people of the City were acting as if some great victory had been achieved. But I knew that there was no victory, that the four of us had been brought alive from under the wings of death only because ot the chance-met prescence of the wizard. The wound in my scalp burned, and I could feel the blood soaking into the neck of my tunic. The two riders dismounted at the Gate, and men took their horses to well-deserved rest in the stables of the lower circle. I thought of poor, brave, ugly Arcag, food for the ravens on the Pelennor, and my eyes misted. We passed into Minas Tirith.  
  
III  
  
As we entered under the gate-arch, to our amazement we saw yet another. Another Halfling, this one clad in the livery of the Tower. When Faramir asked from whence he came, Mithrandir said he had come with him, and that they had much to talk about and do. It seemed more and more unlikely that the Captain would get much rest this evening. Mithrandir commanded the Halfling to accompany us, as he was apparently in the Steward's personal service and due back on duty. Mablung, Lorend and I all looked at each other, trying to imagine what use the formidable Lord Denethor could make of this Pippin, as the wizard had named him. Pippin for his part seemed to admire my lord, which made me kindly disposed towards him immediately. I deemed him younger than Frodo, more of an age with Frodo's manservant Samwise, and therefore full-grown, though he seemed the veriest child in dress-up armor as he hurried along beside the wizard. But when he turned once to look back at us as we took the upwards road, his eyes were troubled and shadowed though his smile was sweet, and I knew that,unlikely though it seemed, this one had seen battle and was a warrior in truth.  
  
"Where are they all coming from?" Lorend whispered to me, and I could but shrug, having no answer.  
  
I'd been to the White City several times before on courier duty, but I'd never liked it. Born and raised in Anorien, having lived and fought in Ithilien, I was a child of the Wild and the walls of the City seemed to close in around me as we passed beneath the Gate. I was dizzy and the ache in my head increased, the wavering torches in the street caused my eyes to see strange things, and though the fear and horror caused by the Riders had passed, it had left a heavy, hollow place within me, a despair. It dragged at me as we ascended the road to the Citadel, and I found myself walking more and more slowly as the way became more steep. Mablung it was who noticed that I had fallen behind, and dropped back to steady me with a hand to my elbow.  
  
"Hethlin, what is wrong? Have you taken some hurt?"  
  
I passed my hand before my eyes to clear them. "It's nothing. Merely a scalp wound. Bled enough already to clean it, I think. Don't trouble the Captain with it, please, Mablung. We'll dress it as soon as we get to the barracks."   
  
"You should have told me you were injured, " he chided as he walked at my side.  
  
"There was no time then, Mablung, and it's of little consequence now. A small thing, easily mended."  
  
"We shall see about that." His eyes followed the trail of blood down my shoulder up to its point of origin, and he cursed softly and fluently, in the language of our people with occaisional interjections of Rohirrim, a rolling, earthy tongue well-suited to such a use. Lorend waited for us to catch up, was told the story, then took my other arm. Up ahead, the wizard and the Captain were deep in conversation., Pippin at their side.  
  
Before we entered into the Citadel proper, I shook my two supports off, and hissed at them, "Say nothing of this! You know the Lord Denethor--he'll keep Lord Faramir on his feet half the night like an erring child, questioning all his actions, berating him for what he cannot help--that he is not more like his brother Boromir. He'll get no rest at all if he is worried for any of us." Unhappily, they agreed, though Mablung made me promise that if, when he examined the wound, he felt it beyond his ability (for like most Rangers, he had some basic leechcraft, and it was not the first time he'd sewn a wound for me), that I would send for a healer from the Houses of Healing, or allow myself to be taken there.  
  
Pippin ran off to attend to the Lord soon as we passed the door. Servants came to Faramir, and he gave them orders regarding us. He spoke with Mablung ere he left with Mithrandir to see the Steward.  
  
"I have housed you in guest quarters in the Citadel tonight, rather than the Guard barracks, for I do not know what my further orders will be, and I want you near to hand. I would serve you all the best feast on the City if I could--but I am told that food is strictly rationed now that we expect a seige. I have arranged for hot baths and clothing and such armor as they can find. Rest you well." He turned and started to walk away, then paused, turning back to us with a weary smile.  
  
"Oh, and one more thing. Hethlin? That was a shot to sing of."  
  
I watched him leave with a face glowing suddenly red and hot as Mount Doom. My comrades in arms chuckled cruelly as we followed one of the Citadel's servants to our chambers. 


	2. Minas Tirith

IV  
  
The rooms to which Lord Denethor's servants brought us were in the lower part of the Citadel, and probably meant for the servants of dignitaries, but they seemed wondrous to me. There was a bedroom with two large beds, a sitting room with a fireplace in the center, and a third room on the other side, bustling with people bringing hot water to fill a bath. Mablung told Lorend to take his turn first, took a ewer of hot water and towels from one of the servants, and requested some sewing supplies. When they arrived, he set me down in front of the fire and cleaned and stitched my wound.  
  
"'Tis not so small a matter as you said, Heth," he said after he'd set several stitches, "It's a dagger's blade in length, and down to the bone here and here." I merely grunted assent, dug my fingers into my breeches legs and tried not to swoon.  
  
"I've had to cut some hair away to do this."  
  
"I'm not so fair that that will mar me much, Mablung," I growled, then yelped, as having finished the stitching, he started to sponge the wound with something that burned like fire.  
  
"What in the name of the Valar is that!"  
  
"That, my fine Ranger, was some very good brandy that I was saving for a happier occaision than this. I didn't get a really good look at those things (in fact, I was trying not to!), but they looked more like carrion-eaters than anything else. And you know the old saying--'Foul the bite of those who eat meat first--'"  
  
"'--From those who eat it last, the wound is worse.' " I finished for him. By all means then, clean it as much as you like. Just remember, you're supposed to be helping me save my hide, not scrubbing it off!"  
  
"He'd be doing us a service if he scrubbed his own hide a bit instead," said Lorend, who came back through the door looking damp and tousled, a towel around his shoulders, wearing a clean shirt and breeches and carrying some more clothing over his arm.  
  
"There is all manner of clothing in there, even some boots and cloaks. Help yourselves to whatever fits, and get a couple of changes. I don't think I'll ever see my saddlebags again, my horse must be halfway to Harad, and you won't get yours back either. The Captain told them to give us whatever we needed." He hooked a chair over near the fire with his foot, sat down and began towelling his hair with a grin.   
  
"Which is a good thing, when you think about it. I am a Ranger of Ithilien, and have spent years in the field, giving my all day after day for Gondor. I have needs."  
  
Mablung and I looked at each other with pained expressions. "You'll need Mithrandir himself to protect you if you splashed water all over the floor, boy," he growled, and got up to go into the bath room. Then he stopped. "I'm sorry, Heth. Do you want to go next?"  
  
I started to shake my head, then stopped because it pained me. "No, I need to sit here a little while first." A chill had come upon me, and the warmth of the fire felt very good on my back. Mablung went into the bath room and closed the door. Lorend looked over at me, and gave me a concerned smile.  
  
"Is all well with you now, Heth?"  
  
"Aye, Lorend. There's none in the Company sews better than Mablung. Like a fine lady's gown I feel, decorated with his fancywork."  
  
A knock at the door announced the arrival of our supper. To our very great surprise, given what the Captain had said, there was a roast chicken, a large bowl of stewed vegetables and potatoes, a loaf of the whitest bread I'd ever seen and a crock of butter with it, a small basket of apples and a small cheese. Three tankards and a pitcher accompanied this bounty, all borne in by a servant in the livery of the Tower, who looked down his nose as if he smelled something bad.  
  
"Alas, we are in dark times indeed!" he grumbled as he set the table. "Chickens rare as they are, and a brace of them prepared for the Steward's very table, for all the Captains and the Prince, and the dinner gone all cold because the Steward would question his son and that wizard when they arrived, keeping the Captains waiting, not to mention us kitchen folk. Not that it's his job to worry about inconvenience to us, no indeed, great one that he is. I know that he has great troubles on his mind, but if he would just once pause to consider the scarcity of chickens, not to mention the rest of it, and the difficulty of setting a proper table in time of war for high lords who expect to eat well even if the world is ending......" Lorend and I looked upon him with bemusement, but he seemed to expect no reply, and continued on as if we were not there.  
  
"Ah me, and it's not as if he's taught his son any better. Down the Lord Faramir comes to dinner, finally, and sits him down with the Prince Imrahil and looks upon the chickens.  
'These look very good indeed,'says he, which is kind of him since they are not what they were when they were first served, being rewarmed and all, and 'I wonder what my men are eating this evening,' says he, and I answer, for I'm waiting the table, 'My lord, they are getting the best of the barracks fare, turnip stew I think it is this evening, and very good it is too,' whereupon he says 'I am certain they would like one of these chickens better, why don't you send one along to them and some of the rest of this as well.'."  
  
The man finished setting out the dinner, pushed three chairs to the table, laid out three napkins and stood regarding us with hands on hips.  
  
"Well, I can do naught but tell him, shameful though it is, that these are the only chickens we have ready, and the Steward has ordered us to be careful of the food, and that I'm sure his men will be just fine. Does this end the matter? Oh no. He draws his dagger, he does, and just when I'm wondering if maybe he's been out in the woods a little too long, he skewers the chicken on his plate with his dagger and drops it back on my platter. 'Then give them mine, and the trimmings that go with it,' says he, and the Prince Imrahil laughs and says 'Kinsman, since they are so dear, I will share my chicken with you!', and there was much hilarity, and all of it at the kitchen staff's expense. So I hope you appreciate the trouble you've caused, and all I can say is I'm glad the Steward had not come down when this happened, for there would have been the most dreadful row, which is most upsetting to the routine."  
  
He harrumphed, and started towards the door, only to turn back and favor us with a final word.  
  
"And what I want to know is-if the Lord Faramir is so friendly with that wizard, and he wants his men to eat chicken and cake every day of the week, then why doesn't he just have him conjure up some chickens for you? And maybe for the rest of us as well. It's not as if we don't have enough work to do And little enough food to do it on! So enjoy your dinner-you're the most fortunate soldiers in Minas Tirith this evening. You're eating from the Steward's own table!"  
  
"No, my good man," said Lorend, speaking for us all as the servant went out the door, "We're the most fortunate soldiers in Minas Tirith because we're Lord Faramir's men."  
  
  
I did not feel very hungry, but I ate a chicken leg and a little of everything else, and drank more than a bit of the ale. Mablung and Lorend, however, ate manfully--no, better than manfully, like Halflings!--and left nothing to be cleaned up but sticky cups and plates and apple cores. It was the best dinner I'd had in a very long time, followed by the first truly hot, truly real bath I'd had in years, followed by the opportunity to select new, clean, plain but well-made clothing, followed by a sleep all by myself (for Mablung and Lorend shared the other bed as a matter of course) in the biggest and best bed I'd ever slept in in my whole life. And I was weary to the bone from battle. Even with the pain of my wound, I should have been able to sleep deep and dreamlessly. Why then was my rest so restless, my dreaming so dark and disturbed?  
  
  
V  
  
The dawn was dim and dreary, because of the deepening darkness, and we slept until breakfast was delivered. Upon waking, we found that the mess in the sitting room had been cleared silently away during the night, and that breakfast had none of the magnificence of the night-meal, being merely small loaves of bread with some smaller bit of butter, and some ale. We also found that armory had been prepared for us during the evening--the jet-black hauberks peculiar to the Tower, tabards and shields with the device of the Tree and Stars, and helms, though the last were plainer than the ones used by the Guards of the City, and had no wings. The padded coifs and tunics used beneath them were also provided, as had been a bedroll and a set of saddlebags for each of us. We spent some time washing up and packing our new belongings into the saddlebags, then began to armor ourselves.  
  
Never had I worn a hauberk before, and no sooner had I put it on than I was ready to take it off again, for it was heavy and encumbering. I could not imagine being able to run or fight in it, and despite some extra padding Mablung placed over my wound under the coif, the helmet hurt my head. But he was unmoved by my complaints.  
  
"Despite your youth, you are seldom foolish, Hethlin. Do not be so now! You were the one who said it--the Lord Faramir is Captain General now. He will armor all the Rangers when he can, most likely when we are forced to retreat to the City. Until then, our brethren are but lightly protected, and we are so vastly outnumbered that the Lord must cherish every one of his men, and spend them carefully as he can. So he will use the unarmored Rangers as scouts and couriers, spies and archers, harrying the Enemy's soldiers about their flanks without directly confronting them. For used so, he will obtain the most use from them with the least losses. But he himself will be where the fighting is fiercest, for he is not a lord that leads from behind. Without armor, you would not long survive in such a fight, and he would not permit you to try. So if you wish to ride at his side, as you know you do, then let's have an end to this foolishness!"  
  
He smiled, and patted my shoulder to soften the sting of the rebuke, and added, "Besides, I don't trust these City Guardsmen to look after him properly. Unblooded they are, most of them, with no more idea about how to fight orcs or Haradrim than their grandmothers have. He needs every Ranger with him he can get! So here, let me help you with this. If you set the belt just so, it takes some of the weight from off your shoulders."  
  
  
We went in search of Faramir the third hour after dawn, and were found instead by one of the boys who remained in the City to serve as messengers.  
  
"The Lord Faramir gives you greeting, and says that he is leaving for Osgiliath within the hour. He asks that you meet him in the first circle at the stables immediately," the boy chirped, then bowed and ran off.  
  
"Within the hour! Well!," said Mablung after he'd gone. "That was quick! I thought we might be going this afternoon, or perhaps tomorrow morning. We'd best hurry."  
  
"The Steward drives him too hard," I said indignantly. "How can he expect him to fight with no rest at all?"  
  
"We may none of us have the chance to rest before long, Hethlin, unless we're resting as do the dead," remarked Lorend, giving a little back-country flick of the fingers as a warding against misfortune spoken of. "But I'll warrant Lord Denethor probably did keep him up half the night with the Captains, debating strategy."  
  
"There's not all that much strategy to debate," said Mablung, quickening his steps. "The only question is, do we fight at Osgiliath, or do we not? And I'll wager the answer is we fight. They'd not need him down there to direct a retreat without battle."  
  
  
We reached the first circle after a brisk walk which did much to lessen any stiffness that remained from the previous day's misadventures, and found the stables bustling with men grooming and saddling horses. Whinnies and shouted orders filled the air. Our Captain was standing in the middle of the chaos, speaking with another man who looked enough like to him to be near kin, and who was clad in the finest mail I'd ever seen, almost Elvish it looked, overlaid with a blue tabard upon which a silver swan-ship sailed. A coronet encircled his helm, and gleamed with blue and white gems..  
  
Lord Faramir was arrayed magnificently for battle as well, in jet-black mail like unto ours, but his helm was winged, and his tabard shimmered with silver threads and crystals. A long black cloak trimmed in silver fell to his heels. I had never seen him clad thusly, in the full panoply of the Steward's Heir, and I stopped in my tracks and stared at them both, till Mablung took me by the elbow and dragged me forward.  
  
"There you are, Hethlin, that's your first Prince there," he said under his breath, "That's Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth. Uncle to the Captain, and a sweet lord and doughty commander, by all accounts."  
  
And without further ado, he walked us up to them, bowing low first to Faramir, then to the Prince. The Captain smiled at us as we approached, but his face was pale and his eyes shadowed with weariness.  
  
"These are my Rangers, kinsman," he told the Prince. "Three of the best, and that is saying something, for the Ranger Company of Ithilien is filled with mighty warriors." I found myself blushing at the praise. "Mablung of Ithilien, one of my captains." Mablung bowed again as he was introduced, as did Lorend in his turn. "Lorend of Lossarnach. And Hethlin of Anorien, called Blackbow." I too bowed to the Prince, who nodded graciously in turn to each of us, then started a bit in surprise as he looked at me. I was surprised in turn, for I was tall as Lorend, broad through the shoulder and slim of hip, and what small breasts I had I had bound. It was a discerning eye indeed that would pick me out to be anything but a gawky, beardless lad, but apparently the Prince had done so.  
  
He quickly mastered his surprise, however, and said nothing of it. Instead, he asked us, with a twinkle in his eye, "How was the chicken?"  
  
We laughed (though I felt greatly daring for doing so!), as did Faramir, and Mablung replied, "Good as a goose, Lord Prince, and more precious than one too, if you could believe the man who brought it to us." The Prince chuckled, and gestured to a man in his livery who stood close by.  
  
"I have told my nephew that I will provide you with horses from my remounts, for horses are almost as scarce in the City as chickens," he said, and he smiled again. "Go with this man, and he will show you them." We bowed once more, and did as he bade us, following the man to a section of the stables reserved for the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth.  
  
The horse assigned to me was a beautiful creature, dark bay with a flowing mane and tail, tall and swift and like unto Teilyn, Lord Faramir's horse, who was stabled hard by. It was said that Teilyn had been a gift to Lord Faramir from his uncle, and I could well believe it. The bay was without a doubt the finest horse I'd ever ridden in my life. His equipage too, was fair and well-made, and decorated with the swan sigil of Dol Amroth.  
  
I took some little time to make his acquaintance, treating him with a bit of grain I'd found in a sack near the door, then I saddled him. Remembering that there were cunning fountains continuously filled with fresh water at the end of each barn, I thought that he might be thirsty, and took him around the corner to water him. He was, in fact, in need of water, and was drinking greedily when I heard voices. Faramir had come to see Teilyn, and his uncle with him.  
  
"Rest, brave one," I heard him tell her. There was a low nicker in response. "The master of horse says he thinks it will be several days before she's fit to ride again," he said to Imrahil. To have come close to such evil wore upon her as much as many battles might."  
  
"She is fortunate to have won free of that evil at all,"remarked the Prince, "and we will see that she is well cared for." There was a moment's silence, then he asked, "Faramir, did you know you have a woman riding in your troop?"  
  
Was that a sigh, or a very quiet laugh I heard? "Since we found her on the banks of the Anduin with hardly a stitch of clothing upon her, yes, I do know that Hethlin's a woman, Uncle. As does every man of the Company."  
  
"How came she to be on the banks of the Anduin, and then in your Company, with or without clothes?"  
  
"It is a long tale, and a horrible one, and I have not the time to give you any but the gist of it. Hethlin's mother and father were originally from Arnor, and moved south to Anorien to settle. Her father, it is said, was a Ranger of the North, and would never tell her why he left the Grey Company. Her mother was Dunedan as well. I know she fears some disgraceful secret. They lived in the Beacon Hills."  
  
"For long and long, she was their only child, and of a boyish bent. It pleased her father to raise her as one, teaching her bowcraft and the skills of the stalk and hunt, and the rudiments of sword-work. In short, he raised her as he would a lad being groomed to be a Ranger. In time, her mother finally produced a son, and then another daughter. The land was not the richest, nor their lives the easiest, but I gather she was happy there."  
  
"A deep-raiding scouting party of orcs from Mordor came upon the farm one dusk. By chance, she was out hunting, and did not return till after dark, by which time it was too late. Her father had fallen in a ring of foes, and the rest of her family were slain and being devoured by the orcs. She was captured in her turn, but being well-fed by then, they kept her alive, and force-marched her back to the Anduin."  
  
"I do not know if they meant to keep her as a slave, for Mordor is ever in need of such, and she is young and strong, or if it was merely more convenient to have their next meal walk with them, as an army drives cattle with them on the march. When at rest, they would sport themselves with her, (I thought I heard the Prince hiss, or draw a sharp breath) and when they travelled, they pressed her cruelly. Thus they came back to the Anduin, where they had boats hidden, and made to cross, trying for the Black Gate. By chance, we were upon the hither shore, and when the orcs came under fire, they decided to lighten their load to better their chances of escape. Into the River she went. We slew them, fished her out, and took her with us to Henneth-Anun."  
  
"Why did you not then send her back to her kin, or to the City?"  
  
"She was too ill to move at first. For a long time, we were certain she would die, and even after we knew she would live, her recovery took several months. Many strong men would have perished had they suffered what she did, but the Northern Dunedain, few though they are now, are hardy stock indeed.  
When I deemed her well enough, I put the choices to her--to be returned to such kin as she had in the South, or be given a place in the staff of the Citadel."  
  
"She answered that she had no kin in the South, to her knowledge, and no skills the Citadel could use, unless they were looking for a horsegirl," and here he really did laugh. "The Valar know she's right about that--if I want my shirt sewn, or the dinner cooked, it's not to Hethlin I go (embarassment flooded over me, and I buried my face in the horse's neck). She wanted a third choice. As she could shoot and stalk at least as well as the least of us, she wanted to join the Rangers."  
  
"Not to teach you your business, nephew, but there's a reason women don't go to war."  
  
"There is truth in what you say, Uncle, but she had already been with us for many months, and there'd been none of that sort of trouble. She had always been most modest and proper, and the men came to look upon her as a younger sister, or daughter. And Elbereth knows she had as great a reason to seek vengeance as any of us! Greater than most, perhaps. So the Company debated it, and decided to give her a trial. And we have never regretted it. She has slain as many enemies of Gondor as any of us, and wields sword and bow featly alike. It was not to see her safely to the City that I brought her with me yesterday, it was because I needed one at my back that I knew I could trust not to fail me. And she did not. She kept her horse till he was killed beneath her, and she drew bow on a Black Rider of the air."  
  
"A great feat indeed. But I still like it not, that a young woman of such tender years should go to war."  
  
"War came to her first, Uncle. And truly, what difference does it make if she dies in Ithilien, or at Osgiliath, or on the Pelennor fighting with a sword? Would she be less dead if she perished in the City, or the Citadel, as all of our women will do if we fail, fighting her attackers with such womanly weapons as come to her hand? No, Hethlin has already seen the worst that war can do, and if she chooses to fight the Enemy more directly than do most women, I will not gainsay her. She may ride with me till one or both of us fall, or till she wearies of battle. And I will think myself fortunate to be in her company."  
  
"You know your own business best then, Faramir, and I'll say no more about it. But have a care for yourself as well, will you? My grief for Boromir is still new-minted, and you are all that remains to remind me of Finduilas, whom I dearly loved. I would not lose you as well." There came a chinking sound, as the two men embraced.  
  
"I will try, Uncle, but it is hard sometimes, to strive so hard, and all in vain," my Captain said, a ragged catch in his breath of a sudden. "I will never be what my father wishes, nor do I truly wish to be. But I would have his love, nonetheless, for myself as myself. And I do not think it will ever happen."  
  
A messenger came in then to tell them that Mithrandir was without and wanted speech with them. They left the stable, and I stood where I was, face still pressed into the horse's neck, unable to move, so torn between joy at his high praise of me and pity at his plight that I knew not what to do, my heart thundering within my ribs while tears poured down my face. As a consequence, I was one of the last ones to join the soldiers who were accompanying him out to Osgiliath, and made sure to ride well back in the file, so that the wind of our passage could cool my face. We were halfway there before I'd sufficiently mastered myself to take my customary place behind him. 


	3. Osgiliath

Author's Notes--At this point, I'd like to thank everyone who has taken the time and been kind enough to review this. Hethlin just jumped into my head one day and took me on a ride, and I was determined to write her for my own enjoyment if nothing else, but I am very pleased that other people are enjoying her adventures as well. A thank you toDwimordene for grammatical notes--if I told you how long it's been since I saw the inside of a college English class, I'd date myself irrevocably, so I won't! Feel free to bring to my attention any other such mistakes.  
  
About Imrahil being Faramir's uncle--though Tolkien just calls him a kinsman, it's there in the Appendices--'Third Age 2950-Finduilas, daughter of Adrahil of Dol Amroth born.' Though it's not specifically stated, I'm assuming Adrahil was Finduilas' and Imrahil's father. Imrahil's birth date is not given, but he has a daughter old enough to marry Eomer of Rohan, so I figure he's maybe a little younger than Denethor, though well preserved because of all that Elvish blood. Which is another point--over and over it's stated that both Imrahil and Faramir have an Elvish air to them and they're both rather similar in character (Yes, I love Imrahil too!). If anyone's got information to the contrary, let me know, but for now, in this story, Imrahil is Faramir's uncle, and Faramir fortunately takes after his mom's side of the family!  
  
VI  
  
The ruins of Osgiliath tumbled across both sides of the Anduin like a child's blocks, discarded because of boredom or petulance. Over time, some of the blocks had been restacked, to make some rudimentary fortifications and housing for the garrison that had been long stationed at the fords. Now, the encampments of reinforcements sprawled out around it, and it bustled with the comings and goings of scouts and messengers. Though the Lords Boromir and Faramir had once successfully defended western Osgiliath against an expeditionary force from Mordor, the battle had cost them all their men but two. It was not a place that could be held in the face of great numbers, and all that were there knew it. We were not there to win a great victory for Gondor, to turn the Enemy away from Minas Tirith, for such a thing was not possible. We were there, by the Steward's order, to delay the Enemy as long as possible, to buy with our lives the time needed for Rohan to come and save the City.   
  
"What do you here, Hethlin?" The Captain's voice reached through the grey fog that had seemed to surround me since we had reached Osgiliath. I looked up at him blearily from my seat on the makeshift rampart, cast a glance down at the courtyard to see if anyone was watching, and only when I could tell that they were not, did I remained seated. In Ithilien no one had stood upon ceremony, but I knew that it would be different here with the army, and despite long acquaintance, I must be careful not to scant respect to the Steward's Heir. A borrowed long bow leaned against the wall, close to my hand.  
  
"Watching. Waiting. Like everyone else, I guess." Upon our arrival, there had been a raucous reunion with our fellow Rangers, which had included many jests about our new livery. I had kept my green and brown mottled Ranger cloak, as had Mablung and Lorend, thinking thusly to set ourselves apart from the soldiers of the Tower, but we were subject to much mockery nonetheless. We had given them an account of our ride to the City, which they were much impressed with, and they in turn had told us of the happenings in east Osgiliath. Apparently, there was much skulking about on the opposite side of the river, and our scouts were encountering parties of orcs in greater numbers than had been seen before over there. So far, this side of the River was clear. At least one patrol, consisting of four experienced Rangers, good men all, had gone out last night and had not returned. I had listened to the talk of war and strategy for a while, then had grown weary of company and had come up here to sit and rest, and possibly shoot an unwary orc or two.  
  
"Have you seen anything?" Faramir asked. His day had been much busier, filled with dispatches and war councils from the moment he'd arrived. I had seen him from afar, striding from one part of the makeshift fortifications to the other, seeing to the disposition of his troops. Though it was long past the noon hour, he was apparently only now taking the time to eat, for there were a loaf, a piece of cheese, and a mether of ale in his hands. I slid over quickly to give him room to sit on the large block of stone I was using. It was a good seat, for it was situated against a large merlon, which meant that you had only to peer around a corner to get a shot, and then you could lean back against it and be both supported and safe from someone shooting you in the head.  
  
"I saw something move, once or twice." I told him. " Put a couple of arrows over there and it stopped, but I can't tell in this foul murk if I actually hit something, or if it just took cover. I think I'll save my arrows from now on."  
  
"That might be best," he agreed, sitting down. "There will be no dearth of targets later." He took a bite of bread and a sip of ale, and I watched him covertly as he chewed. He looked as grey as I felt, and different from the Captain of Rangers I knew so well, sterner somewhow. Perhaps it was the helm and the armor, or perhaps it was the continual presence of the Black Riders far above. Every once in a while, one would make a piercing, evil keen. At such times, I would sometimes feel a dimness come over my vision, or a stabbing pain in the wound in my head. Many of the soldiers were affected far more profoundly, crying out in fear, or dropping to the earth where they stood, cowering till the sound had passed.  
  
He felt my gaze upon him, and asked, "Have you eaten, Hethlin?" I picked up and showed to him my own bread and cheese, diminished by only a couple of bites, for food simply had no savor for me now. He gave me a stern look.  
  
"You're too good a soldier for that. You know the first rule of war--take your food and rest where you find it, for the opportunities are few and far between." So I gave him a sheepish smile, picked up my mether and forced myself to finish my food. We sipped and chewed in companionable silence for a few minutes. Something about the way he ate made me feel he had no more appetite than I did. Eventually we finished, and he brushed the crumbs off of his lap, stretched and made to lean back against the stone. The wingtips of his helm grated against it as he did so, and he sat up in startlement with a soft oath. In spite of the weariness that lay upon me, I laughed.  
  
"That helm is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen!" Faramir smiled in turn, and the air seemed to lighten about us for a moment.  
  
"Aye," he agreed, "but it's expected. Appearances must be maintained. You see here the culmination of centuries of the traditions of Gondor."  
  
"Are you saying the wings get bigger every year?"  
  
"No. Just heavier." The smile left him again, and I cursed myself for a clumsy fool. Far above, a shrill wail shivered the air. A shudder passed through him, and I winced in pain. The cry faded away, and our eyes met. His of a sudden were wide and dark and unfocused, and seemed to look right through me to other times and places.  
  
"What have you dreamed, Captain?" I asked softly, not exactly sure why I did so.  
  
"Nothing I would wish to speak of," he murmured as if half asleep, "Pain and darkness. Torment and death. Defeat and despair. Gondor whelmed beneath a sea of foes, as Numenor was beneath the waves. The ultimate end of the Men of the West." He shook himself suddenly, and became aware once more, and spoke in a stronger voice. "Many similar cheerful things. Ignore me, Hethlin, when I speak so. In truth, I should learn to disregard my dreams. Heeding them has brought me naught but sorrow, my father's scorn and my brother's death."   
  
"My lord, there are those among the Company who think your dreams are the work of the Enemy, but I am not one of them. Did you not say that you felt that Boromir had accomplished some great thing? I think your dream caused him to be in the place he needed to be at the time he needed to be there."  
  
Faramir sighed wearily. "It was my place to go, Hethlin. The dream was my dream, for though he claimed he'd had it once as well, I believe that was simply because I'd told him about it so many times. It was no true dream of his own. The dream was my dream, and the place was my place." He started to lean back once more, thought better of it, and leaned forward, elbows on knees. Unconsciously, I did the same. An idea occured to me.  
  
"With all due respect, my lord, you're wrong." The helmed head turned slowly to face me, and I distinctly felt that there was a raised eyebrow under all that metal.  
  
" I'm wrong? How am I wrong?"  
  
"It was not your place to go. My lord, in all those stories and books of yours that you've let me read, no one just goes to sleep, has a dream about how to save the world, then wakes up and goes and does it themselves! No, when there's a big doom at hand, someone makes a prophecy or dreams a dream, and tells everyone about it, then everyone sits around and talks about what should be done, and fights about it, and then someone else, some warrior, some destined one, gets up and agrees to do it. It's the same thing, over and over and over again. All those books can't be wrong! You were the Dreamer, and your brother was the Warrior, and that's all there is to it. It was not your place to go."   
  
My Captain stared at me for a moment, incredulous, then covered his face with his hands, and after a moment started making some very peculiar noises. His shoulders were shaking. I wondered if perhaps I had upset him, speaking of his brother in such a fashion. Then I wondered if he were perhaps choking on a crumb. Concern turned to irritation when I finally realized he was laughing at me and trying to hide it. The noises continued for some time. Eventually he stopped, and spoke through his steepled fingers.  
  
"So there's a rule, Hethlin?"  
  
"Mayhaps not a rule, sir, but you must admit--if you do it all yourself, it makes for a very short story."  
  
"So it does. So it does indeed." He dropped his hands and looked at me. His face was no longer grey, it was flushed. "By the Valar, I lose one protector only to gain another! And this one would protect me even from myself! A thankless task, Hethlin." I became somewhat pink myself, and said nothing, uncertain of how to reply. He regarded me for a moment longer, then sat up suddenly, fumbling at the pouch on his belt.  
  
"All this talk of stories reminds me of my original purpose for coming up here. I have something for you, and I apologize for being so laggard about it. But it's seldom enough I've been to the Citadel in the last couple of years, and even when I've been there, there have been so many councils and meetings that I keep forgetting."  
  
"Forgetting what, my lord?"  
  
"This." And he pulled a small book bound in blue leather out of the pouch and handed it to me. The binding was handsome, of the finest leather, with the swan ship of Dol Amroth picked out in silver on the cover. But it was also somewhat stained and battered around the edges, and there was an inkblot on the back cover.  
  
"Do you remember when I first started teaching you Elvish in the evenings, when you were ill, and I said that I had a book of childrens' stories that would aid you, and that I would get it for you when I had the chance? Well, late though it is, I've finally redeemed my word."  
  
He watched as I carefully turned the pages, which were of the thinest vellum, scribed in delicate Elvish script, and cunningly illuminated. It was a most pleasurable experience--until I saw the name inscribed on the frontispiece, and froze.  
  
"My lord, this was your mother's book."  
  
"Yes. It was given to her as a child, and she gave it to me in turn."  
  
I was shocked to think he would gift me with such a precious thing. "I can't take something from you that was your mother's, my lord." I tried to hand the book back to him, but he refused it with a gentle shake of the head.  
  
"I have many more momentoes of my mother. Many more than you have of yours. And she would have liked for you to have it, I think. She loved music and poetry and the Elvish language--and people who loved them like you. Besides," and he smiled, "there's a story with a magic horse in there, so it was obviously meant to be yours."  
  
It seemed that there was going to be no graceful way to refuse. "I will treasure it always, my lord."  
  
"Good. It can be the first volume in your library. And I give your fair warning--when this trouble is over, I will expect to hear some tales from it--just so I'll know you've been working hard."  
  
"I promise, my lord." There was a hubbub of a sudden down in the courtyard, and voices calling my lord's name. He got up, bent down and scooped up his mether, and went down the stairs. After a moment, I carefully placed the book in my own belt pouch, picked up the bow, and followed.  
  
  
The lost patrol had returned, or at least one of them had. Murthen, one of our cleverest scouts lay in the dirt of the courtyard, grieviously wounded. Mablung and such others of us that were good at leechcraft were desperately attending him, but I could tell by the look of him that his wounds were mortal and that it was too late. What heroic force of will had held him to life I could only imagine, but when Faramir knelt beside him it was obvious that he was waiting only to make one last report to his captain.  
  
"My lord, they are coming!" he gasped within the circle of Faramir's arms. "We found them yestereve, and spied upon them a while trying to get a number, but they are numberless, a vast host beyond counting! The road from Minas Morgul throngs with them! Orcs all in black, and Southrons! We strayed too close, and tarried too long, and we were discovered by a patrol. I alone survived to carry the word. They will be here by midnight." A bloody hand reached up and clutched the throat of Faramir's tabard, dragging his face down close.  
  
"Flee, my lord, flee now! He is with them! The Black Captain himself! You cannot stand against him! Fly, all of you, fly for your lives!" He began to shudder, and a trickle of blood came from the corner of his mouth. "I have seen him, " he murmured, his eyes wide with remembered horror, and died.  
  
Disturbed muttering rose around the dead man. Lord Faramir gently laid his hands upon his breast and closed his staring eyes. Laying him down carefully, he got to his feet, his tabard stained with the man's blood, and looked around at us.  
  
"This changes nothing," he said firmly. "No matter how many come against us, or who commands them, the Steward's orders still stand. We will hold for as long as we can, and withdraw in good order when we can no longer do so. Soldiers, to your posts. Captains, with me." Mablung gave me a friendly clap on the shoulder as he headed towards the captain's council. I went in search of arrows. Lots of arrows.  
  
VII  
  
  
I misremember battles as other women misremember childbirth. Lack of clear recollection makes it possible to endure it more than once. Skirmishes and sniper actions, one-on-one combats, conflicts with fewer opponents, where there is time to make choices--those I can usually recollect with some clarity. But the battles remain with me only in confused fragments, and they're no clearer while I'm fighting them. I have no idea how many orcs or men I've wounded or killed over time, nor do I remember any incredible feats of valor. It would seem that this would make learning from one's mistakes difficult, but I'm still here so I must not be doing too badly.  
  
Many men also suffer from this problem, I'm told. I have sometimes wondered if perhaps all of them do, and those who glory in their prowess, and flaunt the tallies of their dead, are simply lying. Maybe if we did not possess this failing, if we all remembered what war was truly like, there would be less of it. Then again, maybe not. For it does seem that there are more than a few who truly love it, who crave the battle madness as others crave drink.  
  
What then to say of Osgiliath? At midnight, when we looked across the River and saw the mass of the enemy, seething like a swarm of bees deprived of their hive, we knew that we would not be able to cause them loss enough to make a difference. We did hope that we would be able to hurt them somewhat as they crossed the River, when they were few in number and vulnerable. But that hope ended when we discovered that they had prepared in secret many hundreds of rafts. Just before dawn, or what passed for dawn under the Darkness, a great weight of foes crossed the River at once, and when they shocked up against us upon the shore, the first step we took was backwards. And so it continued.  
  
Step by step, we retreated through the ghost-ridden streets of Osgiliath, using such ruins and fortifications as came to hand, careful of our flanks lest we be surrounded and overwhelmed. The Rangers and other archers were behind the ranks of spear and swordsmen, the cavalry to the rear, but ready to sally forth upon either side as needed. The Captain was in the center of the front line, and I could hear his calm voice giving both orders and encouragement. Mablung, Lorend and I were afoot with the Rangers, choosing our targets, drawing and loosing, over and over and over, till arms and shoulders ached. No random shooting into the dark host for the Rangers--arrows were precious, and we made every one count. A few soldiers who were walking wounded stayed with us as arrow gleaners, bringing to us mostly orc arrows. We took them carefully, for they were often poisoned, and returned them to their makers.  
  
Much has been made of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields in song and story, but little has been said of the Retreat from Osgiliath. More should be. Even in retreat, the valor of Gondor was not diminished, and the enemy watered with blood every foot of ground they took. We made them pay three and four and five for every one of us, and it was not enough. The Black Captain of Minas Morgul bludgeoned us with the fear-driven masses of his army and dread of himself and Captain Faramir of Minas Tirith held us together with the force of his will and the strength of his heart. It took the whole day to reach the Causeway Forts, and it seemed an eternity, for the Darkness made it difficult to discern the passage of time. We were caught in a nightmarish hell where our arms grew wearier and wearier, and we slew and slew and slew, but were faced with an eternal procession of fresh foes.  
  
Mithrandir arrived mid-afternoon, and things were somewhat better after that. The light that came from him lessened the gloom, and the knowledge that one had come who could actually battle the Black Captain heartened us immeasurably. He moved about wherever he was needed most, but he was also often with the Captain, and I was glad to see it. For I had some idea of what this day had cost Faramir of Gondor. Glimpses I had caught of him from time to time, and ever he was princely and calm, soothing men on the verge of panic, showing no sign that he himself was battling fear and fatigue. But I knew, none better, that he had come to this fight weary almost to collapsing, and that, like me, he was feeling the presence of the Black Riders most keenly. Whence came the strength he was drawing upon, I did not know, but there must have been a deep well of it within him. Never had I admired or loved him more, and I wanted the shake the shoulders of the haughty Lord Denethor and tell him, "Your second son is not the least!"  
  
Dusk found us with our backs to the wall of the Pelennor and the Causeway Forts. The gate opened behind us, and troops began to pass within. The Enemy pressed us hard at that point, hoping to break through us, and into the fort itself. I was out of arrows, so I drew sword and long knife and stepped into the shield wall. The fighting grew furious, and my memory of it is dim. I cracked a rib there, courtesy of an orcish spear, but suffered no other injury. It was then that Lorend took the leg wound that lamed him for the rest of his life. He was down the line a bit, but I could see Damrod standing over him until the other Rangers could drag him back.  
  
The host of Gondor was almost completely within the walls now. Archers had run to the ramparts, and finding boxes of fresh arrows, were already raining death down upon the enemy. Faramir shouted an order, there was a clatter of hooves, and we parted our formation to let the cavalry through. They formed, and charged, pushing the enemy back, and we took the opportunity to retreat inside ourselves. The horsemen were too few to do significant damage, and their captain was a canny one. He took them just far enough out to win them their own passage back inside, then wheeled and raced back in. As soon as the last horse's tail had passed within the arch, the great gates groaned shut. A host of willing hands dropped the huge crossbar. It settled into its supports with a boom.  
  
There was a pause, an utter silence for a moment, as we all looked around and realized that we'd managed to make it this far. Then commanders started barking orders to their squads. Some men went to take station upon the walls, while others moved into the courtyard to rest and receive food and water from the staff of the Fort. The Darkness deepened, and true night covered us. 


	4. The Causeway Forts

Author's Note--This is shorter than the others, but I am a costumer and am in the middle of a production right now, and the last thing I need to be doing is riding through Gondor with fire and sword! I wouldn't have gotten this far if Hethlin were not such a stubborn wench! I'll try to post again ASAP, but it may be a little while.  
  
  
VIII  
  
After the gate had closed behind me, and I'd caught my breath, I looked about the courtyard and spied Damrod. He looked me up and down as I came over.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"Yes. Just a cracked rib. How's Lorend?"  
  
He waggled his hand. "Could go either way. Slashed to the bone he was. He's with the fort surgeons now."  
  
"Do you need me on the wall?"  
  
"In a bit perhaps. Go see to the lad--it will make him feel better. And give us news of him and any other Rangers when you return." I nodded, and went off in search of the surgery, which I found by simply following a stretcher. The smell of blood was thick in the air, as were the cries and groans of the wounded, but it was no worse than a battlefield, and I went in cautiously so as not to step on anyone, but without hesitation.  
Lorend was already in the hands of the surgeon, who was cleansing and sewing his wound. He was groaning quietly through clenched teeth and his hands were tight on the stretcher, but he ceased making noise when I arrived, or perhaps I should say he ceased groaning.  
  
"Ah Hethlin, tell me the truth, I can take it. Is my beauty marred?"  
  
"Your beauty? You're a fine one to be talking about your beauty when poor Anborn's over there waiting to get his cheek sewn up."  
  
"Oh, that's an improvement for him. It will make him look sinister and dashing. Maybe the girls will look at him now." Anborn, the best archer in the Company and a man of somewhat grim humor, snorted and then winced.  
  
"Well, judging from how this is placed, you have less to worry about your beauty, and more about your future offspring. Which just proves that great good can come even from great evil."  
  
"Hethlin, you are cruel! Almost as cruel as--ow!--this fellow! Hold my hand, please?" he gasped suddenly, and I did. He squeezed my hand with great force for a while, then finally swooned, after which the surgeon's job was much easier. I sat with him till the surgeon was done, then asked the man if he thought he'd heal. He had little more to say than Damrod had done.  
  
"He is young, and strong, but he's lost much blood. And something there is here which seems to sap the strength of the wounded. I think it is some working of that fell creature that captains the black army. If we can get him to the City, he should have a chance. We have wains ready to carry the wounded. I must find the time to speak to Captain Faramir about when he wants to send them. Is he still well?"  
  
"He was but a short time ago."  
  
"Well, may the Valar protect him then. And us all."  
  
"Aye to that indeed." I spoke to Anborn then, and learned that he and Lorend were the only wounded, but that we'd lost three more Rangers. Since the surgeons were very busy, I helped pass water out among the wounded before I returned to the wall. The surgeon who'd tended Lorend gave me a grateful wave as I left. Another important rule of war--always get on the healers' good side. You never know when you'll need them.  
  
  
Sitting down for any length of time had been a bad idea, I discovered as I made my way back to the battle. Every muscle in my body had stiffened, and I was knuckling sleep from my eyes. I paused to give Damrod the report he'd requested, then made my way up onto the ramparts. The Enemy, for whatever reason, was hanging back at present, and we were merely making a cordial exchange of arrows. Mablung was there, overseeing the archers.  
  
"How's the lad, then?" he asked, as he tossed me a full quiver.  
  
"Still with us. The surgeon couldn't tell me aye or nay." I unslung the black bow from my shoulder and strung it, grimacing as my rib twinged.  
  
"Well, let's hope it's aye then. Here you go. Shoot three quivers, and make them count, then go get your supper." He tossed another quiver to one of the City archers, then yelled down into the courtyard for the gleaners to pick up the pace.  
  
"Anborn's going to have a scar on his face." I nocked, moved to the wall and drew.  
  
"Did they get an eye?"  
  
"No." I waited, looking for my target. My rib was still aching, but at least it was a change from the headache.  
  
"Then it's probably an improvement." There it was, a dark spot in the wavering torchlight, the orbit of an eye beneath the brow of a helm belonging to an orc in the first rank. I loosed, and the orc threw up his arms and fell backward. Some time passed and I had knocked, drawn and loosed five more times before Mablung came back over and spoke again. Four more orcs had died, and the one who hadn't wasn't going to be swinging a sword anytime soon.  
  
"Heth. Have a care you don't aim too high." I was searching for orc number six.  
  
"Oh Mablung, it was only the one. The others went right where I wanted them." Orc number six died.  
  
"That's not what I'm speaking of. I've been a Ranger long enough to know what direction the wind's coming from." He gestured to an archer to leave the wall, and another took his place. "Heth, he's a prince in all but name!"  
  
I drew again, and waited my chance, but my cheeks began to burn red. "Mablung, you know not of what you speak. The Lord Faramir is my Captain and my friend. But if I were inclined in such a way, then know this--my father was an archer too, and he taught me that if you must choose between high and low, then choose to aim high. Aim high, and even if you miss your target, you may hit something in the second rank. Aim low, and miss, and you hit naught but earth." My arrow sang as it went and another orc fell; not dead, but he'd be running no races.  
  
"Did your father warn you that when you aim high, you can be blinded by the sun?" My next arrow went wide.   
  
Mablung grunted. "I thought not. Sharpen up, Heth. Three quivers. And that's the last I'll speak of this, girl." And he moved down the wall to chastise a sloppy shooter. I got through my three quivers, but did myself no credit. But then, it's hard to shoot in the dark, by torchlight, with tired arms and eyes that keep blurring for no good reason.  
  
  
I was at my supper when the Black Captain finally sent his troops forward against the wall. But there was not enough room on the ramparts for everyone, and I had finally reached my limit. So I sat down against a wall in the courtyard, chewing my food mechanically, listening to the roar of battle, and watching the occasional black arrow hiss into the courtyard. Then I fell asleep.  
  
  
"Hethlin! Hethlin, wake up!" The place I was in was grey, and not very pleasant, but it was easier to stay there than make the terrible effort required to wake up. But the voice was persistent, and after a time was joined by a hand roughly shaking my shoulder.  
  
"Could she have taken a wound somewhere?" another voice asked. "Is she dead?"  
  
"No, not dead. Just weary like the rest of us," said the first voice, which I now recognized, though it sounded a bit strange. The hand became even more vigorous, and my head banged against the wall, which bumped my wound. The pain drove the last vestiges of sleep away wonderfully well.  
  
"If you don't stop that, Anborn," I groaned, "I'll mark your other cheek for you."  
  
There was a snort of satisfaction. Anborn was a man of few words but many snorts.  
  
"See, not dead at all. And still ready to fight." The strangeness, I realized, was because he was speaking very carefully so as not to tax his wounded cheek. I scrubbed at my face clumsily, and opened my eyes. Anborn was hunkered down next to me, proffering a cup of water. Therin, one of our newer Rangers who'd come to the Company a year ago, was standing close by, watching with concern. Anborn looked up at him.  
  
"Get you on out to the wains, and stand watch. Some of them may have come over the wall further down." Therin nodded, and departed. I took the cup from Anborn, and drank deeply, suddenly realizing how thirsty I was.  
  
"What's the time?" I asked, finally pausing to take a breath.  
  
"Somewhat past midnight by the air."  
  
"You let me sleep that long?"  
  
"There wasn't any 'let' about it, Hethlin. You were tucked away behind this barrel here, and Therin only noticed you about five minutes ago."  
  
"Oh, marvelous. You're all fighting, and I'm back here snoring."  
  
"Don't worry about it. I know what time you came off the wall. You've had no more than most." He gave me a hand up. "And in a much less comfortable place. You know, there is a guardhouse. With blankets, even."  
  
I stretched. Stiff was not the word. I stretched again. "This was not my idea. It just happened."  
  
"It does, sometimes." Anborn nodded agreement.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"They're still pressing us at the wall, but the Captain thinks something's up. Some of them seem to have left for other parts. So we're loading the wains with the wounded now, and getting them out while we can. I think the wizard's going with the wains so the Captain can keep all his men here." For Anborn, this was quite a speech.  
  
"Where do you need me?" I picked up my bow and quiver, which were leaning against the wall.  
  
"The Captain said something about needing you and Mablung ahorse later, so go see if you've still got that one the Prince gave you, and get him ready. Check on the Captain's and Mablung's too, while you're about it. Then come back, and we'll find something else for you to do. By the way, they're giving out bread and ale over there."  
  
As ordered, I went to where the bread and ale was being distributed, got some and headed over to the stables. The Captain's horse was already prepared, so I got Mablung's mount and my own ready--after a brief tussle over possession with a couple of the City guard, who found our Dol Amroth horses preferable to the mounts they'd been issued. The dark bay, conscious of his superiority, demanded and got half my bread. It seemed only fair to give the other half to Mablung's horse. I drank the ale, and stepped out the back gate to see if I could say goodbye to Lorend. There were many wains there, filled and overfilled with wounded men. It looked as if the loading was finished. Surgeons were making a final round, then mounting their seats. Mithrandir sat glowing nearby atop his wonderful stallion, talking to Lord Faramir. I found Lorend in the sixth wain, but he was sleeping or unconscious, so I merely tucked his blanket in around him, and said a little prayer to the Valar for his protection. I'd barely finished when the Captain gave the order, and the wains rumbled forward, Mithrandir riding at their side.  
  
Faramir watched them go for a few moments, then turned, and gave me a tired smile.  
  
"Good morrow, Hethlin. How was he?"  
  
"I couldn't tell, my lord. Asleep, I think. Which puts him ahead of his commander, from the look of things." The Captain threw up his hands in mock supplication.  
  
"Mercy, Hethlin, mercy if you please! I have an excuse."  
  
"Which is?" I inquired grimly with my hands on my hips. He gave me a very serious look, and when he replied, it was with the utmost gravity.  
  
"There were no good barrels on my side of the fort." I groaned, and he chuckled.   
  
"You saw me there, and just let me sleep like that?"  
  
"Had I been the one behind the barrel, wouldn't you have done the same?" He clapped me gently on the shoulder, and we walked back inside. "Let's see if we can't give the wains a chance to get away. If we can just hold until dawn, I think that will be enough of a start for them."  
  
"My lord, we are within the fort, and the Enemy are without. Why do you believe we can only hold until dawn?"  
  
"Because I think they're going to grow tired of playing with us soon, and scale the wall away from the fort, and so come in behind us. They may already be on the Pelennor, but so far the Rangers I've sent out have found nothing." He paused to stretch and yawn for a moment. "Did Anborn tell you I wanted your horse ready?"  
  
"Aye, my lord. It's done, mine and Mablung's. They'd already saddled yours."  
  
"Good. We're going to need all the horsemen we can get today." He paused, and took my hands in his. "Be well. Be careful. The Valar protect you, Hethlin. I'll see you later." He gave my hands a squeeze, turned and walked swiftly away. I went to see if I was needed on the wall.  
  
Lord Faramir was right about the Enemy's intention, but wrong about its execution. The Black Captain did nothing so subtle as send soldiers sneaking over the wall. At dawn, in a display that was intended to daunt and dismay us, he blew great breeches in it at many points. Whether he used sorcery, or some vile concoction of Sauron's, none were ever able to tell. And it didn't really matter, for however he had done it, he made it necessary for us to abandon the Causeway Forts unless we wished to be surrounded and ultimately overwhelmed.   
  
The noise of the blasts was deafening, and the shock of them threw the unready to the ground. Men cried out in fear, horses screamed, horns sounded the alarm, and commanders started ordering their troops to evacuate according to the plan determined upon by the captains. The foot was to go out with the archers in their midst, while the horse stayed close to hand, ready to lend support wherever needed. Despite bone-deep exhaustion, the host assembled and moved out swiftly, knowing that great numbers of orcs and Southrons were even now pouring through the breeches.   
  
I made certain I had a full quiver, then went and mounted my horse. Mablung was with me, and he held Faramir's mount. The foot had gone out the gate, but the cavalry held there waiting, and the Captain did not come.  
  
"Have you seen him?" I called to the captain of horse, who was just now mounting himself.  
  
"He's in the surgery," he called back. Mablung's eyes widened in some sort of realization and he uttered a curse and started to dismount, but I was faster and tossed him my reins.   
  
"Heth, damn it all, let me--"  
  
"I'll be right back!" There was another boom, closer this time, and Mablung had his hands full with three suddenly skittish horses, and had to desist. I heard him mutter "They're just playing at it now, curse them!" as I pelted off. I was halfway to the surgery when I realized that I'd apparently become used to the hauberk, that I was running at full speed without thinking about the weight.  
  
"Captain! My Lord! We must leave now!" I was calling as I came, and running so fast I almost skidded past the doorway. I caught myself against the jamb, looked into the room and froze.  
  
Faramir was standing in the doorway, and blood dripped from a blade he held in his hand, and tears were streaming down his face. And he spoke to me in a voice I'd never heard from him before, a voice of deepest, coldest anger, a voice that froze me to the bone.   
  
"Hethlin, why come you here? Get you from this place at once! Get to the horses and bide there till I come!"  
  
I looked past him into the room and saw men, deathly wounded men and saw that some of them were new slain and I knew what had happened. These were the men so sorely wounded that they would not have survived the trip across the Pelennor. We could not take them with us, and he would not leave them to possible torment and defilement at the Enemy's hands, so he granted them the only mercy he could. He saw the direction of my glance, and his expression grew even darker.  
  
"Did I not give you an order, you disobedient wretch?" he snarled. " Get you to the horses!"  
  
Fear of his disapproval had always been greater for me than fear of death, and I trembled for a moment beneath his wrath. But then my own anger rose up to meet his.  
  
"There is nothing you can tell me about fates worse than death, Faramir of Gondor!" I snarled back at him. We were almost nose to nose. "If you have somewhat to do here, then be about it, and I will bide here and guard till you be finished! But be swift! You endanger the living by lingering!" He jerked a bit in surprise, then turned on his heel and went back into the room without a word. I stood with my back to the doorway, sword in hand, and waited, tears in my eyes. There was very little sound--a quiet whispered prayer and once perhaps a sob--and it did not take long. He returned, and we ran to the horses silently. He said nothing to me, but to Mablung he promised, "We will speak of this later."   
  
Mablung looked at me and frowned, and I frowned back at him, lifting my chin, and the captain of horse frowned and gave the order to ride out. There was another explosion close to hand, and we could dimly hear the mocking voices of our foes upon the wind as we left the Causeway Forts. 


	5. The Pelennor Fields Again

Author's Note--If this is a bit incoherent, I'm sorry--I was really tired when I wrote it, and would have preferred to wait, but it was driving me crazy, and I couldn't rest till I'd gotten it on paper! Thanks to all of you for the good wishes about my play, it's going pretty well.  
  
  
There is yet another rule of warfare that touches more on superstition than survival. It is said that you invite bad luck if you go into battle having failed to mend a quarrel with a sword-brother. Fate or Chance or Misfortune or whatever you want to call it, is believed to delight in striking down one half of a quarrel, leaving the survivor to suffer with regrets for the rest of his life. This is supposed to apply only to quarrels between friends, but some people take no chances. There were a couple of Rangers in the Company who absolutely loathed each other, and delighted in verbal sparring and insults whenever the occaision presented itself, though their conflict never went beyond talk--the Captain would never have stood for it. They would always make a point of very publicly mending their quarrel before a patrol or action--and resume it with renewed vigor upon their safe return, thus having the best of both worlds.  
  
What had passed between Faramir and I was not a quarrel, and I did not think that he was truly angry. Certainly, I was not wroth with him. I knew that it was his anguish at what he had had to do that had made him speak to me in such a fashion. Anguish, and a desire to preserve what innocence he rather foolishly believed I still possessed at this point. But never before had he chastised me and never before had I defied him, and our formerly easy comradeship was out of joint. And there was no time to do anything about it.  
  
Looking upon that day now with the clarity hindsight gives, it is very apparent to me that the only reason Lord Faramir got us almost to the Gate of Minas Tirith was that the Black Captain let him to do it. His host was too vast, and there was too much of it pouring into the Pelennor, and we were not so far ahead of them for me to believe that they couldn't all have simply converged upon the very broad, very obvious road we were travelling and obliterated us. But obliterating us down by the Rammas, where none from the City could see and sorrow, would not have served his purpose half so well as watering the stoop of the City with the blood of the Steward's heir and his men, using the horror of our deaths to spread despair amongst those who were holding the walls.  
  
Perhaps part of it was that he fed on terror as well as inspiring it. When a cat seizes a mouse and wounds it, it is a foregone conclusion the mouse will die; but the swiftness and manner in which the cat dispatches the mouse determines the amount of entertainment the cat derives from its demise. I believe it suited his purpose best to allow some of us to almost reach the Gate, to believe that we were going to make it into the City, to allow us to hope before he deprived us of hope and life alike. But he didn't need all of us, and he spent the day amusing himself by whittling our numbers down in the cruelest way possible.  
  
Never were we allowed to rest, for there was always a force of some sort nipping at our heels. And it was always a force of a size that we could vanquish, and always once we had vanquished it and were finally pausing to draw breath and rest our arms, another force would be there in its place. They came from the right, from the left, from the rear--but they never came between us and the City. My arrows were gone by midday, and there were no more to be had, so I had to go to my sword and the shield, which I'd had no training in. However, when my life is at stake, I'm a very quick learner, and one of the things I discovered was what a boon companion a fully trained warhorse can be--he lends strength to his master's blows, and can sometimes even savage and overbear an opponent's horse. The dark bay of Dol Amroth saved my life at least twice and I didn't begrudge him the breakfast I'd given him that morning the least bit.  
  
The Black Riders were up above the clouds but ever present all day, crying their cries, casting a pall of doom and despair over us all. The day wore on, and there were fewer and fewer of us unscathed. As we had done at Osgiliath, we made them pay, and pay dearly, for every step backward we took, but we were so weary that mistakes were made and wounds were taken. I saw a City Guardsman fall where he stood without a wound upon him, from exhaustion alone, and I think he may not have been the only one. Mablung, whom the gods must have loved, bore a wicked slash up the side of his neck from a swordpoint, but though it was deep, it had somehow touched nothing vital and he was fit to fight. I was cut below the knee on my sword side--a vulnerable area for a horse soldier. It was not deep, but my boot was ruined, which did not improve my mood. Eventually, most everyone still living had some sort of injury, and we had some wounded that had to be carried. Our progress became slower and slower, and our foes pressed us harder and harder.  
  
Faramir fought as one possessed, as if the survival of every man there depended upon his prowess alone. Never had he fought mounted with the Rangers, we had used our mounts only for courier duty or to ride to Minas Tirith, but watching him that day, I suddenly realized that he might actually be a better fighter ahorse than afoot. And realizing that, I tried to imagine what a wonder Boromir had been, that he had been deemed the better warrior of the two of them. Anyone, orc or Southron, that came against Captain Faramir died, it was as simple as that, and he did his slaying with a dark and feyly dangerous look in his eyes.  
  
But in the end, even Faramir couldn't hold us all together. Overcome by terror, small bands of men would break away from the main host and flee up the main road by themselves. Sometimes we were able to intercept them and cajole or command them back into the formation and sometimes they got away. I know that some of them actually reached the City, but many were attacked and slain within sight of us, and I suspect that many others fell prey to roving bands of the Enemy. After we were halfway up the Pelennor, and the City could actually be seen, the problem became more acute for a while, and then it stopped; for all that finally remained were the seasoned warriors, the veterans who did not have to be told that their best hope of survival lay in staying together, Rangers of Ithilien and City Guardsmen alike.  
  
Time after time, we horsemen formed and charged upon our foes, keeping them off the foot troops. Not only were we weary, many of our horses were blown and close to foundering, but we had no choice except to spur them back into battle. One Guardsman's horse dropped beneath him, its heart burst, but he was able to kick free and joined the foot with hardly a moment's pause. I kept the Captain in sight, though chances of battle often separated us. We were within hailing distance of the Gate before I actually came to be riding knee to knee with him. We galloped back to the foot and turned, and set ourselves to charge once more. He looked over at me and was quite a sight--his fine livery slashed and bloodstained, his face grimed and sweaty. I was sure I looked no better.  
  
"We're almost there, Hethlin," he panted. He looked almost hopeful. We could hear the people on the wall calling encouragement to us.   
  
"Once, maybe twice more, and we'll see them home." I nodded, and he looked at me gravely. "I apologize for this morning. I had no cause to speak to you in such a manner, no matter what the circumstances."  
  
I was on his shield side, so I really couldn't touch him, but I smiled. "There is nothing to forgive my lord, I--"  
  
There was a great shout that drowned out what I had been going to say. All of a sudden, a vast host of orcs and Southron cavalry surged towards us, seemingly rising out of the earth itself, screaming and waving torches. Faramir turned in his saddle and called to the captain of the foot, "Go! Get you to the Gate! We will try to hold them here!" He looked at me, and I knew that the brief moment of hope was gone, and that he would spend his life here if he had to, within the very sight of his home, to see his men safe. I looked back at him, lifted my chin, tightened my grip on the reins and nodded. He ordered us to the charge once more, and we lifted into a gallop with a defiant shout.  
  
As if odds of ten to one were not enough, with a wash of putrid air and deafening shrieks, the Black Riders fell upon us at last. I could hear the terrified screams of the men behind us, but was too busy myself to look back. My horse swerved and almost stumbled when they screamed, but we were engaged with the enemy by the time the Riders stooped, and for once they seemed not to affect our horses much. Perhaps they had some way of aiming the fear they threw off, and concentrated on our foot so as not to hamper their own cavalry, for the Haradrim seemed not to mind their presence. Our opposing forces crashed together fiercely, and the Southrons were eager for battle and hot for our blood. I saw what was undoubtedly the captain of their horse, a huge man with a great scimitar and much gold upon him. He spied that ridiculous winged helm of the Captain's and spurred towards him, crying challenge. Both of their stallions reared as they met, bugling, then their battle dissolved into a whirl of blurring, slashing motion. Which I could not properly appreciate, as I had problems of my own.  
  
As I have said before, I don't remember much about battle as a rule, but I remember the arrow. I had just dispatched a cavalryman, and saw a flicker of motion up above, and my eye followed it without thought, with the long habit of one who dodges arrows for a living, and knew that that one was a concern, that it was coming close. And I can tell you, as one of the better archers in the Company of Ithilien, who has the skill to trace a trajectory back to the archer so that I may kill him, that no matter what Mithrandir said about it later, that arrow fell from the sky.  
  
It came, and I saw it come, and I fancied I heard the thud when it entered the Captain's left shoulder, right over the rim of his shield. One horse-length away from him, I could see the surprise on his face. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, his sword fell from his open hand, and he pitched backward over his horse's rump. The Southron captain cried out in triumph and spurred his horse forward to trample his foe. I drove my heels into the bay, and we rammed into the shoulder of his horse, momentarily deflecting him. He snarled in anger, and then I found out just why he was captain of his company. His scimitar snapped out, fast as the serpent on their standards, and crashed against the right side of my head. My helm saved me from death, but my ears rang, my vision dimmed for a moment, and my cheek was cut to the bone. The backblow was just as fast and came in onto my left shoulder, and I managed to get my shield up and partially block it, or it would have been broken. He finished me, or so he thought, with a shield bash that had all his considerable strength behind it. I felt myself blacking out, going limp, sliding from the saddle, and fought it, fought it desperately, for a man down on the battlefield is a man as good as dead.  
  
I lost my horse, but kept my sword, and fell, as chance would have it, across Faramir's legs. He groaned. I shook my head to drive the darkness back, saw above me a looming shadow, and struck up from my knees, no style, no thought, just desperation and survival instinct. His horse screamed, slashed across the chest, and shied back, and I screamed back, all rage and fear, and staggered to my feet. The weight of the shield was agony to my bruised shoulder, so I dropped it, and went for my long knife as he came back in.  
  
He thought he had me. I could tell from the evil smile on his face and the mockery in his voice as he taunted me in Southron. But now it was the sort of battle I understood, Ranger versus Haradrim, and I was Hethlin Mumak-Slayer. I let him come at me, and took his swing against my ribs. I felt a couple break, but my armor held, and I moved into him, dropped my sword, and jumped up, clamping onto his sword arm with my right hand. He grunted in surprise and tried to throw me aside, and he was strong enough to lift me off my feet, armor and all. But I held fast, and when he did, I screamed and drove my knife into his armpit.  
  
With an astonished look, he toppled soundlessly towards me, and I jumped back and let him fall, and swept up my father's sword. Then I stood athwart my lord's body, and slashed at anything that came near us, horse or orc or man, frantic to keep hooves and blades away from him, blood and tears pouring down my face. "Ithilien! Ithilien to me!" I called desperately, weeping, and it seemed that I heard Mablung calling "Heth! Hold on! By the Valar, you hold on girl, I'm coming!" And then I heard something else, a roaring sound that was distant at first but grew in volume rapidly, the thunder of many hooves, and many voices all crying, "Amroth for Gondor! Amroth to Faramir!" Then suddenly, I was surrounded by what seemed to be a wave of blue and silver, and it grew and crested and swept all my enemies away. And since the wave seemed to have matters in hand, and I was sick and dizzy and very, very tired of fighting, I wiped my blades on my cloak, sheathed them, and sat down beside my lord. I pulled his head onto my lap and patted myself to see if I could find something to staunch his wound, for I knew it needed tending, but I could find nothing, and that upset me, so I started weeping afresh.   
  
So they found me, Mablung and the Prince Imrahil, with my tears falling on his face, and my hand stroking his black hair. And because I was weeping, they were afraid at first that he was dead, but then they saw that he still breathed. The Prince approached me as slowly and carefully as one might approach a wounded animal.  
  
"Hethlin, isn't it? May I see to him?" His voice was kind, and soothing, and I looked up and nodded. He knelt beside me, and looked up at the two of his knights who accompanied him personally. There were more of them forming a perimeter, a wall of blue and silver about us.   
  
"Bandages, Liahan. Esteven, find the Ranger a horse. We must be about this quickly, for the sortie cannot go far." Bandages were produced (apparently to be a Swan Knight was to be prepared), and Imrahil prodded carefully around the arrow for a moment. He looked at me encouragingly.  
  
"Ah, this is not so bad. Not in very deep, and it's touched nothing important. Here, you hold his hands while I draw it out." I did as he directed, and he broke the shaft off, then pulled the mail back from Faramir's shoulder, reached under it, grasped the remainder of the arrow, and quickly withdrew it. Faramir jerked, and gasped, and his eyes fluttered open for a moment. His eyes slid across my face, then his uncle's and a little comprehension returned.  
  
"Uncle. My men?" his voice was a whispering croak. Imrahil was packing a wad of bandages against his wound, staunching it.  
  
"They're going in the Gate now. You got them home, lad. You did just fine."  
  
"Good." He looked back at me. "Heth." It was the first time he'd ever called me as Mablung did. I smiled down at him.  
  
"Yes, my lord?"  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"So you already said, my lord." He said nothing in reply, but seemed comforted by this. I lifted his body up a bit, so the Prince could bind the wadding into place by wrapping a bandage over the outside of his mail. He groaned, and his eyes went dark, and he whispered, "The king. I see the pale king." Then he lapsed back into unconciousness. The Prince looked at me, puzzled.  
  
"Do you know what he speaks of?"  
  
"No, lord prince." But something nagged at my mind, told me I should know. I was shuddering now, long slow shudders that I couldn't control, but I'd stopped weeping, and was slowly regaining command of myself. Mablung stepped to my side, and Esteven returned, bringing with him as chance would have it, my very own dark bay, who had stayed close to hand. Someone brought the Prince's horse as well, and he stood, and indicated that Liahan and Mablung should lift up Faramir. We heard a horn from the City sounding the retreat, and Imrahil said, "We must make haste." So he mounted his horse, and indicated that they should hand Faramir up to him, which they did. Then the knights mounted theirs, and Mablung looked at me.  
  
"Do you need some help, Heth?" I looked up at the height of the saddle, took a deep breath, felt the stab of my ribs, and the ache in my shoulder, and nodded. "Yes. Please." So he came over and gave me a leg up, then mounted his own horse. I straightened up as best I could, and we set out for the Gate. The foot preceeded us, in command of themselves once more, stepping proudly, then our horse, then the Swan Knights, then two grubby Rangers of Ithilien flanking the Prince of Dol Amroth. The crowds cheered them wildly, as well they should have--there had been such valor and bravery over the last two days as was well worth many a song. But their joy turned into dismay as they saw that the Prince bore Faramir before him, and cheers turned into wails. The wails reverberated strangely about the stone walls of the City, and reminded me of something.  
  
"The Riders," I croaked. "What happened to the Black Riders?" The Prince looked at me, surprised.  
  
"Mithrandir rode before us, and drove them away. Did you not see him?"  
  
"No." I paused, and thought about it for a moment. "No, I don't remember him at all."  
  
The Prince looked at me, started to say something, then apparently thought better of it, and shifted Faramir a little higher onto his shoulder. His head lolled slightly, but he did not move, or speak and he was so starkly pale that he looked as one who was dead.   
  
"Will he be all right now, lord Prince? He has not wakened since you pulled the arrow."  
  
"You must remember how weary he was, Hethlin--how very weary you all must be. I think he will be well enough once we get him to the Citadel, and his father's care. The City's best healers will attend him."  
  
As we had mounted into the higher circles of the City, the hubbub at the Gate had faded away, and the crowd had thinned. We'd left the soldiers down in the second circle, and now all that remained were the Prince and his personal escort. The noise of our horses' hooves was the only sound. Occaisionally, we would pass someone hurrying home to their supper or upon some other late errand, and they would pause, vaguely curious at first; then horrified as they realized who it was the Prince of Dol Amroth carried.  
  
The Guards at the Citadel saluted sharply, and threw open the gates with dispatch, expressionless, but I turned back to look after we passed within, and saw them craning their heads after us, and talking excitedly among themselves. We paused in the courtyard, and the Prince Imrahil proceeded alone to the door. A man stood within the arch. The Steward of Gondor had come to welcome his son home. I could not see the Steward clearly, nor hear what was said between himself and Imrahil, but I felt a sense of unease as household servants brought out a stretcher and the Prince surrendered his burden to them. I shivered, and Mablung looked at me in concern.  
  
"Are you all right, Heth? Can you still ride?"  
  
"Yes, and yes, Mablung. Would you say I was mad if I told you I would rather the Captain were being taken to the Houses of Healing than home to his loving father?"  
  
He looked at me grimly. "As one who's ridden with him years longer than you have, I would say that for someone who's been beaten repeatedly about the head and shoulders, you make perfect sense to me."  
  
  
The Prince of Dol Amroth returned to us then, and gestured to me. I reined the bay over, and he smiled gently.  
  
"Hethlin of Anorien, you have done my house a service this day, and I will not forget it, though some time may pass before we can speak more of this. For now, I think you and good Mablung here need to seek healing yourselves. Liahan will escort you to the Houses of Healing, and take the horses. Captain Mablung, I would speak with you about the disposition of the Rangers tomorrow after the noon hour. I will send a runner to you with the location. Until then, I thank you once again and give you a good night." He nodded graciously to us, we bowed in our saddles (I did so very carefully because of the ribs) and we departed with his knight.  
  
"A very fine lord that one is, and no mistake," commented Mablung as we left the Citadel. I looked at Liahan, and saw a smile fighting to manifest itself at the corners of his usually serious mouth. We were not the only ones, it seemed, to serve a lord worthy of great love and respect.  
  
"He is indeed," Liahan replied softly, and we said nothing more till we reached the door of the Houses of Healing. I unfastened my saddlebags, and slid carefully to the ground, then handed the bay's reins to Liahan, and stroked his sweat-crusted neck one last time. My trembling had finally ceased, leaving naught but a numbing weariness.  
  
"It goes ill with me to leave his care to another," I told the knight. "Particularly when he knew his business better than I did this day. T'was I who put him in this condition, and 'tis I who should mend it."  
  
"Lady, he will be well tended, and rested for some time to come," Liahan assured me, "None of us think you a sluggard. You were injured sorely on the Lord Faramir's behalf, and we of Dol Amroth love him too. Allow us to do you and Captain Mablung this small service in repayment."  
  
"Please thank your lord the Prince for the loan of him."  
  
"I will, my lady, but there is no need. The Prince would tell me to thank you for using him so well." And he saluted us, and departed. Mablung, who had also surrendered his horse, but without the flowery exchanges, just shook his head.  
  
"Fell fighters they are, and no mistake, and very glad I was to see them today. But so fond they are of speeches, it's a wonder they ever manage to get anything done." Seeing me swaying on my feet, he lent me an arm, but I could tell he was none too steady himself, and in the end, we were leaning on each other as we passed into the Houses of Healing. 


	6. The Pale King

Author's Note-Many more thanks to those who continue to review this and encourage me. To those of you who were looking forward to Heth's take on the whole Denethor business, I'm sorry, but it's not an AU, and I can't think of a logical way to work her in there. Let's face it, she's a grunt. A grunt with an increasing number of powerful friends, but a grunt nonetheless.  
Things get a little strange and metaphysical for a while here, but bear with me!  
  
  
The Houses of Healing were abustle, dealing with the aftermath of our retreat from the River. We were met at the door by a man dressed in the robes of the House who took one look at us, said "Walking wounded through the door to the right," and then promptly forgot us, turning his attention to an incoming stretcher. We went where he directed, and found a sort of antechamber lined with chairs, the chairs filled with soldiers in various positions of repose. Most were in the black and silver of the Tower, but there was one dressed in mottled brown and green. It was Damrod and he hailed us and limped over to sit beside us, thigh bound with a bloody bandage.  
  
"How's the Captain?" was the first thing he asked. "I'd heard you all brought him in."  
  
"Prince Imrahil drew the arrow out," I replied, speaking very carefully because of my cheek. I now knew why Anborn had sounded strange. Now that the excitement of battle was gone, things were starting to hurt quite a bit. The only good thing was that I was no longer thinking about my scalp wound at all.  
  
"I was there when he did it. And he said that it was not very bad at all. But the Captain wouldn't wake up again. The Prince said it was just because he was worn out."  
  
"Well, and he was right about that, wasn't he? I don't think the man slept at all the last two days." He leaned over, and looked at my face. "Heth, it's good you're not the vain sort--you're all black and purple." Mablung looked at my face more closely as well.   
  
"Get your helm off, lass--your cheek's swelling up. How're they deciding who gets help first, Damrod?" Damrod grinned.  
  
"From what I've been able to tell, they choose two ways. Whoever looks worse, or whoever looks like they're going to get up and start swinging a sword if they don't get helped next."  
  
"How bad off are you?" I asked him. He gestured at his leg and tsked.  
  
"Oh, this isn't much. I just need it stitched. You could do it for me," he suggested to Mablung. "Then we wouldn't have to take up these peoples' valuable time. I don't even know why the two of you are sitting here."  
  
"We're sitting here because I can't stitch my own neck," growled Mablung. "And I want Heth's cheek stitched by someone who makes smaller stitches than I do. I don't mind doing the back of her head. No one will see that. But whether she chooses to remember it or not, she's still a woman, and the day might come when she'll be glad she doesn't have a big, red, ropy scar on her face." I was touched.  
  
"If I mind that sort of thing, I'm in the wrong line of work," I pointed out to him. I pulled my helm off, and hissed with pain--blood had seeped under the coif, and it was stuck to my skin, and pulled on the injured cheek as it came loose. Released from its metal prison, the cheek started throbbing.  
  
"Well, as it happens, I don't think you're in the wrong line of work. Seamstressing now--that would be the wrong line of work! I saw what happened when you patched the elbow on your shirt, and you aren't coming anywhere near my neck! So don't go getting the idea this is all about you. I'm not going anywhere until I get myself fixed up. Then, if you haven't been seen to," he said to Damrod, "I'll do your leg, and anyone else that needs a bit of stitchery."  
  
The helm safely removed, I sighed, leaned back, and wrapped my cloak about me. One of the healers came in, made a circuit of the room, stopped in front of me, looked closely, then gestured that I should follow him. Mablung crooked a finger at him, and the healer came over.  
  
"Can you do little stitches?" The healer, somewhat offended, averred that his stitches were quite neat. Mablung patted his sword hilt. "See that they are then. I want that cheek to look as smooth as a baby's....cheek, do you understand? This is the one that kept the Lord Faramir from being trampled to death by Southron cavalry today." The healer looked at me dubiously. For my part, every portion of my face that wasn't black and blue went bright red.  
  
"Mablung!"  
  
"Well, it's true." Soldiers near by, hearing this, looked upon me with interest. I heard a couple of "Good job!" and "There's a lad!" remarks. Figuring that my dignity was best salvaged by a retreat in good order (and I knew a little bit about those now, didn't I!), I picked up my helm and saddlebags and followed the healer out of the room.  
  
  
"Aside from your face, soldier, are you injured anywhere else?" We had gone down a long hall that was lined with smaller rooms. Apparently they were treatment rooms of some sort, for my healer led me into one, and there was a table there, a couple of chairs, and a cabinet filled with bandages and medical supplies. A woman brought him a basin of steaming water and some towels as we entered.  
  
"A cut below the knee, a couple of broken ribs, and my left shoulder is hurt. I don't think it's broken, but something's wrong."  
  
"Well, let's save the worst for last. Show me the leg." So I pulled my boot and stocking, and rolled up the pants leg.   
  
"I can't stitch this--where it's situated, it will simply tear loose again." But he cleaned it very well, and bandaged it tightly. I pulled my boot on again.  
  
He went on to check my ribs, and I waited. It took him a little longer to realize what was going on than I thought it would, but then he'd been very busy for a while and was probably weary.  
  
"You--you're a woman!"  
  
I looked down at my body in mock horror. "Verily, it is true! What vile sorcery is this?"  
  
He frowned. "What manner of jest is this? Does your father know you've been playing the soldier, girl? Are you even of age?"  
  
"My father was killed and eaten by orcs three years ago. I doubt that what I do is a matter of much concern to him now. And I have been a Ranger of Ithilien since that time, so it is no jest. And as for my age, it is of no matter, for I have no male kindred to take responsibility for me. If anything, I was in the wardship of Lord Faramir, and he allowed me to become a warrior. Now, will you tend my hurts or will you not? For I am sure we both have much better things to be doing than talking about this." He glowered at me for a moment in disapproval, nodded curtly, and began to dress my wounds, saying little after that except to explain that my shoulder was bruised to the bone, and that some such injuries were worse to recover from than actual breaks. He saved the cheek for last, and had me lay upon the table while he sewed it, which was a good thing, for I did swoon.  
  
When I came to myself, he was gone already, and the woman who'd brought him water led me back out to the antechamber. There I found that both Mablung and Damrod were being treated, so I leaned back in a chair once more and fell asleep. They returned some time later, and roused me with great difficulty. Mablung inspected my cheek carefully, and pronounced the stitches tiny enough to spare the healer's life. We took the time before we left the House to look in upon Lorend, who was sitting up in bed with his leg propped up, and playing the Hero of Gondor with one of the younger and comelier women that assisted the healers. Reassured by this evidence of his recovery, we then somehow made our halting, lame way down to the barracks that was reserved for the Rangers, which coincidentally lay nigh the buildings being used by the knights of Dol Amroth.  
  
  
There was a roar of approval as we entered the Ranger barracks, and much clamoring to hear the tale of Captain Faramir's rescue. But Mablung took one look at me, swaying where I stood, and refused.  
  
"The Captain's all right, not too sorely wounded, just really tired. He's up at the Citadel now, with healers, and that's all you lot need to know for now. Heth'll tell you about it tomorrow, or maybe the day after. For now, she needs a bed."   
  
Very quickly, we were shown to a small room off of the main hall, meant to be a lesser officer's chamber. It contained a bed, a chest, and a table with a washbasin and one candle on it, and nothing else. I thought it heavenly.   
  
One of the Rangers brought me in a kettle of hot water, and poured it into the basin, and some soap and towels.  
  
"You need some help, Heth?" Mablung asked, watching me with concern. I plucked vaguely at the hauberk.  
  
"Get this off of me and I'll manage the rest." I unbuckled my sword belt, laid it on the bed, and leaned over, and he pulled the hauberk over my head, being careful not to touch my face. I straightened, astonished at how much lighter I felt of a sudden. I'd grown quite accustomed to it over the last two days.  
  
"Mablung, you need to get some rest yourself. You've got to meet with the Prince tomorrow, remember."  
  
"I remember, lass, and I'm on the way now. You're on the wounded list, Heth, so sleep you in as late as you like." I nodded, and he went to the door, then paused.  
  
"You did wonderfully well today, Heth. In case I didn't tell you."  
  
"You did, Mablung. Just not in words. Good night."  
  
"Good night." And he closed the door behind him. I sat down to pull my boots, thought to lie back for just a moment, and darkness fell over me in an irresistable wave. I barely had time to reach for my cloak, and drag it over me before I sank deeply into slumber.  
  
  
To this day, I do not like to think, or talk or write about what happened next. There are times when I think it must have been a dream born of fever, or the damage done by a Southron sword. There are other times when I know it was as real as the bannock I had for breakfast, or sun-sparkles on the Anduin.  
  
It began innocuously enough. There was a point in time when I realized that I was no longer sleeping on my bed, that I was walking through the City. I had no idea how long I'd been sleeping, or if I was even now still asleep. Puzzled, I looked down at myself, and found that I was clad in my hauberk once more, my sword at side, my bow on my back, and wearing a grey cloak I'd never seen before. I could see the dim, shadowy forms of what must have been people moving through the streets with me, but I could not see them clearly, nor could they discern me. Strange though that was, stranger still was when I made my way down to the first circle--and walked right through the closed and barred Gate of Gondor! Outside, the Enemy held sway. Orcs in great numbers were digging huge trenches about the City. At least I thought they must be orcs--their forms were squatter, and repulsive even when dimly seen. Like the City folk, they took no notice of me. As I passed one trench further from the City, a fire was kindled within it, and it glowed redly, but I could not percieve any flames.  
  
I walked for a long way, backtracking the very route I'd taken up the Pelennor earlier that day. I felt no pain from my wounds, nor did I grow weary. Orcs ran past me, drawing wains of supplies, and a Southron cavalry patrol passed, their horses suddenly restive and jumpy. Apparently, they could sense in some fashion that I was there. Once a Mumak passed, and it too seemed to see me in some way--it bellowed and flapped its great ears.  
  
I tried to stop once, to go back and return to my bed, and it was then that I found that I was being compelled to walk this path. I struggled, but found that I was unable to resist the summons of whatever had brought me forth. On and on I walked, past troop after troop, host after host, setting camp, bringing up seige engines, walking sentry. Ceaselessly, they poured through the breeches in the Rammas, a foul, dark flood.  
  
Halfway down the Causeway Road, there was a low hill hard by which gave an overview of a good part of the Pelennor. It was to this hill that I was being drawn. An aura of horror and dread hung over it, which grew ever stronger the closer I approached. Once more, I struggled to escape the coils of whatever held me, and once more my now frantic attempts proved futile. The shadows of men and orcs moved up and down the hill, always moving much faster down than up.  
  
There was a darker shadow to the left, at the bottom of the hill, and it was huge, and formless. As I drew near, it raised its head and I saw the gleam of red eyes and knew that it could see me in truth. A pang went through the wound at the back of my head. It made a strange cawing noise, lifted its wings with a leathery rustle, then bent its head to its supper. Fortunately, I could not see what it was feeding upon. But I knew then what it was that had me, what I was about to face. Panting with fear, I tried to dig my heels in, to move more slowly, but my feet continued on their inexorable path up the hill.  
  
As I climbed, I began to see a putrescent glow between the shadows of what must have been captains and commanders. They scattered suddenly, leaving nothing between me and he who was their master. My traitor feet continued to carry me forward, until I stood trembling before him, then my knees gave out and I sank upon the ground. In this strange, dark world, his was the only light, but it was an unhealthy one--a glow of corruption and decay. The enshrouding robes that made him the Black Rider, the Black Captain, were gone. What stood before me was Faramir's pale king.  
  
  
If ever he had been a mortal man, he'd been one of huge stature. His great frame looked skeletal and wasted now, his face sere and haggard. A cruel spiked crown was upon his brow, a hauberk of ancient make armored him, a great sword hung at his side. Robes of glowing mist shrouded and moved about him, his lank hair lifted in some unfelt breeze. I will never forget the sight of him, and it was not a vision I sought. His mind seized upon mine as I knelt before him, and ruthlessly forced my head up, up until I was forced to meet his eyes.  
  
The slightest glancing look upon a Rider had nearly paralyzed me on the Pelennor. This was a hundred, a thousand times worse. I felt as if my heart were going to explode from my chest in terror, I started screaming and could not stop. His mind entered mine, stripped it bare, raked through it with bony fingers, picking over the parts that interested him most. All my secrets were laid out for his perusal, there was nothing of me he did not know. I knew now why his followers would slay themselves at his command; I wanted to die then and there, to loose his grip upon my soul.  
  
Then, as suddenly as he'd entered my mind, he withdrew from it. His long-fingered hand made a casual, arcane gesture, and the terror simply stopped. Released from his compulsion, I slumped back on my heels, whimpering, shaking, grateful to be released from the fear, and hating myself for feeling grateful to such a fell, evil thing.  
  
He took a couple of long strides away from me, then turned, fingering an amulet that hung, one of several, from his belt. It looked like a bird, perhaps a hawk or eagle, carved in some black stone or wood. I found that whatever it was he had done, I could bear to look upon him now--it was still unpleasant, but not unbearable.  
  
"Your house has fallen far, child of the Eagle. Far indeed, that it has naught but a woman-child to send to war." His voice was like a wind over the grass upon a grave.  
  
My voice was trembling like the rest of me. "Why have you brought me here? And how?"  
  
"I have brought you here to give you a choice. As to how--I was a sorcerer when I was still but a man. And when I was sundered from the flesh, I was not sundered from my skill. In Angmar, long ago, one of your forefathers swore himself to me, body and soul, and with his help was Arnor dismayed and the king, Arveleg, slain. I scented the blood of your house spilled upon the battlefield this evening, and using the bond I once had of him, I drew you to me. To offer you a chance, in remembrance of his service, to survive and prosper in the new age to come."  
  
He entered my mind again, this time not to dominate but to show me the ultimate fate of Gondor. Vast armies I saw, moving from the East and the South, as large or larger than what was besieging the City now. A huge fleet I saw as well, black-sailed, moving up Anduin laden with Corsairs hot for plunder. Despair struck deep into my heart at these visions. Against such numbers, Gondor and Rohan could not survive.  
  
"My lord Sauron wishes that this combat be as short as possible, that damage to the City and its inhabitants is kept to a minimum." His voice was quietly chill, and infinitely reasonable. "Towards this end, he requires a death."  
  
"With your Captain wounded, the Swan Lord rules the city. The Prince favors you, and would allow you close to him. Accomplish his death, and my master is prepared to be generous beyond your wildest dreams. He is lord of great kingdoms in the East and South. There are riches unimaginable, and realms to rule, for those who are faithful to him. There might even be favor granted, in the form of mercy for one who has offended him much, should your service please him."  
  
And again visions filled my mind, this time of the rewards I would receive. I saw myself somehow transformed, terrible yet beautiful, a warlord fell and mighty, commander of great armies. And I saw myself a queen, throned in majesty, with an adoring consort at my side. Faramir, his face soft with love. A pain struck my heart, and tears fell on my cheeks at the sudden realization of a long-held truth. It seemed a blasphemy to discover such a thing because of this creature, but that made it no less real.  
  
"Imrahil for Faramir. A life for a life." Amazing, how a voice could be hissing and coaxing all at once. "For your Captain will not survive otherwise. He has offended against Sauron, and I have my orders. I have not even to take the city to accomplish it. One so open to his dreams is also open to......other things."  
  
His will fell upon me once more, coercing, compelling, forcing me to submit. Though in the old legends and tales, heroes are always adamant in their rejection of evil, it was not so with me. For I was wounded, and weary beyond belief, and sick with fear for Faramir. And I was terrified at what the Witch-king would do, should I refuse him, for there are truly things worse than death, and I imagined he knew about most of them. For a moment, I wavered, though it shames me to admit it.  
  
In the end, it was my memories that saved me, the random images flashing through my mind that he himself had dredged up. My mother and father dead, their bones stripped. My sister and brother, trussed on a spit like suckling piglets. The journey to the Anduin, the orcs sating themselves upon me and destroying my future in the process. The ruined farmsteads, the horror and brutality of war I'd seen since becoming a Ranger. The revulsion and sick disgust the Black Riders engendered.  
  
And on the other side of the balance? A quiet voice, soothing me through many nights of pain and sickness. Faramir's gentle grey eyes, glinting with amusement as he corrected my Elvish of an evening in Henneth Annun. Lorend's ebullient youthful enthusiasm, Mablung's wise care and concern, all the other Rangers and the fellowship we had shared. Mithrandir's glowing might, the gallant chivalry of Imrahil and his knights, the hundreds of unsung acts of courage I'd seen during the retreat from the River. In the end, it was clear to me--there had never really been a choice at all.  
  
Slowly, for it was as if a great weight lay upon me, I pushed myself to my feet. Head bowed, I closed my right hand upon my father's sword. My left strayed to my belt pouch, unlatched it, fingertips creeping within to touch the pages of a book, the loving gift of a friend. Love and honor--it would be enough.  
  
I raised my head, and raised my voice, and was astonished at how calm it sounded.  
  
"I think, my lord, that you put too much faith in the blood of my house. For Angmar fell in the end--do you not remember? Do your worst to Gondor, but do it without me--for I do not consent!" There was a tiny, strange singing sound and the amulet in the Witch-king's hand crumbled to dust. I felt a weight lift from me that I'd never knew I carried. He stared at me in disbelief for a moment, and then things became as bad as I had feared.  
  
Like a heavy hammer blow, the terror returned, and he seemed to swell, and alter, his very face and form Death personified. I screamed, and fell back and he towered over me, and his voice was no longer quiet, but thunder and earthquake alike.  
  
"So be it, you fool! Get you to the Grey Lands, where you shall feel your soul wear away to nothingness! And as you crawl crying in the dust, know this--I have set such a fire in his blood that naught will slake it! He will die in torment and agony, his soul forever lost, and it will all be your fault! Think upon that, in the time that remains to you!" He chanted, swiftly then, some dark words of power, and I felt myself whirled away, still screaming, to a place where all was grey.  
  
  
In the dark hours before dawn, the Rangers in the main barracks room were wakened by my screams. Anborn it was who forced the door open, and found me sprawled across the bed, cold to the touch and barely breathing. My father's sword was in my right hand, my belt pouch under my left. And my hair had turned snow white. 


	7. The Grey Lands

Author's Note--This one's a little shorter--my dress parade is Friday, and I've been plugging away at this in bits and pieces over the last couple of days. Hopefully, it's not too disjointed--I was pretty tired when I wrote it.  
  
  
The dust I was lying in was grey. The sky above me was grey, and featureless. It contained no clouds, no stars, no moon or sun. No breeze riffled the dust, no weed marred it. There were not even pebbles, large or small, to break the monotony.   
  
I slowly got to my feet, and realized that I was unwounded. Turning carefully in place, I surveyed the entire horizon, and could find no hill or hollow, no mountain or valley. All was flat and featureless grey. I could see well enough but the dim light seemed to have no point of origin, and I cast no shadow. The air was neither hot nor cold.  
  
"So be it, you fool! Get you to the Grey Lands, where you shall feel your soul wear away to nothingness! And as you crawl crying in the dust, know this--I have set such a fire in his blood that naught will slake it! He will die in torment and agony, his soul forever lost, and it will all be your fault! Think upon that, in the time that remains to you!"  
  
Thus had the Witch-King spoken, and thus had his will been accomplished. This was, I supposed, one of those worse than death possibilities that I had been afraid of. Was I even still alive? I suspected, because of my unwounded condition, that it was my soul that was trapped here. How long would my body survive without it? Was poor Mablung even now finding my cold corpse? And what of Faramir? Did he still live? How much time had passed, or would pass? If I could find my way out of this, would I come forth to find the Witch-King enthroned in the White Tower? Or would I find myself sundered from my fellows by time itself--lost in some past or future year?  
  
The very possibilities were infinite, and torturous in themselves. I had to admire the subtlety of the vile being, even while I plotted the best way to thwart him. In the end, there was not much I could do in the way of planning. Two possibilities only seemed to present themselves--to remain where I was, and do nothing, or to travel, and see if I could find the boundary of this place, and win my way free. The thought of meekly sitting here till whatever end he had contrived for me came true had no appeal whatsoever. I was a Ranger, hardened to long journeys in the Wild. I would see if I could not come to an end of this place, and escape.  
  
I had to have faith that escape was possible, and that Faramir would be alive when I accomplished it. Then I could find Mithrandir, and see if the wizard would aid him. My decision made, I got up and set out, the long, easy walking stride of a Ranger with much ground to cover raising small puffs of dust as I went. A direction was meaningless here--there were no stars to navigate by, no geographic feature to use as a reference point, but it occured to me that I might walk one way a while, then return on the path of my own footprints, and take another direction, and thus avoid walking in circles. And so I strode out confidently, praising myself for my own cleverness--until I turned, and looked back, and found that though I'd originally left footprints in the dust, they were now gone, and it was as smooth and featureless as before. Then I began to feel very afraid indeed.  
  
  
Two days I was there, they told me later, and it was a wonder that I did not go mad. For after a time, the silence and the grey sameness began to wear upon me. I sang to myself, as I walked, just to hear the sound of a voice, and it fell flat and deadened in the strange air. I told myself every story I knew. When I began seeing things, I had to stop, and pause, and take a hold of myself, and direct such fancies into daydreams of my own design. One that entertained me for quite a while was the selection of a new horse from the herds of Rohan. I built what I wanted in my mind, from the hooves up, and when I was done with one, I made another, and another, and a few more after that, and then I amused myself with breeding my hypothetical herd and evaluating their progeny.  
  
When I tired of that, I tried to relive happy memories of my family, though that was harder--flashes of their gruesome fate tended to intrude at odd moments. Thinking of past battles fought was certainly no better. Only when my spirit was flagging, and I was beginning to despair, did I permit myself the indulgence of thinking about Faramir. With the deliberate slowness of a condemned man enjoying his last meal, I lingered over every look, every word, every laugh or act of kindness. I remembered him on a hot summer's day in South Ithilien, pulling his hood and mask off, and ruffling black, sweat-soaked hair while laughing at one of Lorend's absurdities. In front of the window of Henneth-Annun at sunset, staring into the West as if he could see clear to Elvenhome. Coldly beautiful and deadly serious one full moon night as we hunted orcs. Eyes half-closed in enjoyment of the words as he read to me in Elvish one evening. Bathing in the Anduin with the patrol one afternoon, while I kept watch up in the trees. That last one had me walking faster for quite a while.  
  
Eventually, I pondered what I would do if I managed to escape this place and get help for him. Should I speak to him of how I felt? I'd never had any indication from him that his interest in me was other than friendship--unless the gift of his mother's book counted. But that was a book of childrens' stories, not a slim, scented volume of Elven love poetry. What did that tell me? I knew that he was my friend, but was I prepared to risk that friendship in the hope of gaining something more? What were the odds? What would I gain?  
  
The Steward's Heir of Gondor could not wed a barren woman. Faramir it was who had taken me to the healers before he allowed me to join the Rangers, and he knew of my condition. Would I be his mistress? I had declared to him once "I am not a slattern.". Would he even make such an offer? Most likely not. Faramir was the soul of honor. He would never dishonor a woman, and he was not a man who casually indulged his passions. If he loved a woman enough that he wanted to bed her, he would wed her and cleave only unto her.   
  
And what was there about me that would make him want me anyway? I'd never had the opportunity to stare into mirrors, but I'd seen my reflection in water often enough. Tall and gawky, with big hands apt to a sword, and not much figure to speak of. A face not uncomely, but not beautiful either, too strong-featured, hawk-nosed and heavy browed.  
My hair had possibly once been my best feature, thick and fine and blue-black, but I had always worn it chopped off rather raggedly, and now it was as white as an old woman's hair. And my body below the neck was a diary of all that had been done to me. What man could look upon such a thing and feel aught but revulsion?   
  
Mablung had been right, as usual--I had aimed too high, had not been careful enough, and now I'd lost my heart to no good purpose. For there truly was no future big enough to hold Faramir the Steward's son and Hethlin the farmer's daughter. A prince in all but name, he was, as Mablung had said, and fine and fair and gentle as well. Should Gondor survive the war, he would be most sought after by many lovely maids. Maids who were maids indeed, of highest birth and perfect, pretty bearing. Maids who could make him a shirt as well as mend one, keep his castle and bear his children. Maids who would jump at the chance to dust his library, put his papers in order, and make sure he wore a cloak in cold weather. He would choose one, for that was his duty. And Hethlin Blackbow would find herself back on the borders of Ithilien, potshotting orcs. For in the end, that was the only thing I was truly fit for.  
  
A tear dropped into the dust, sank and was lost as if it had never been. Just like my pretty, pitiful dream. And I admit, it was followed by several more after that. But I was not crawling in the dust, as the Witch-King had predicted. Not yet. Faramir might never love me as I wished, but my heart had been given despite that, and I would save him if I could. I kept walking.  
  
  
The voice came as a whisper, and at first I ignored it, for it had been a long time since I'd heard anything other than the voice in my own head. But then it came again.  
  
"Hethlin. Hethlin, daughter of Halaran, come to me. Follow my voice, and come to me."  
  
I stopped, and looked around, wildly hopeful of a sudden. "I am here!" I cried. Was that a faint chuckle?  
  
"See, I told you, brother. Come, Ranger, and hurry! I may not tarry here. Follow my voice." The voice began to speak my name, and encouragements, and I followed the sound of it. Was that a lightening in the monotonous grey, over there? Yes, there was! I started to run then, my footsteps soundless in the dust, and the light grew, and strengthened. And suddenly, the source of the voice was there.  
  
Like Mithrandir, he glowed, but even brighter, as if he were merely the clear vessel for a white flame. There was a star on his brow, and stars in his eyes. His hair was dark as night, his face pale and wondrous fair. I stopped in my tracks at the sight of him.  
  
"None of that now, child," he chided me. "I can come no further, and can stay no longer." His beautiful voice was strained, and he held out a trembling hand. "Come to me, and take my hand. And then, Ranger, we must run!"  
  
I did as he bade me, and as I clasped his hand, I was jolted by a surge of power. Strength seemed to surge through me. He groaned, and seemed to dim somewhat, but turned, and still holding on to my hand, began to run. We ran for what seemed an eternity, then, once again, I perceived another lightening in the monotony. My companion was starting to falter somewhat, and I linked my arm in his and helped him toward it. As before, a man suddenly appeared before us, as like to the first as the proverbial peas in the pod. No, not a man--they were Elves, I suddenly realized. Actual, honest-to-goodness Elves.  
  
The man who had come to help me staggered into the waiting arms of he who must have been his brother, and sighed in relief. "You owe me a forfeit, brother. I told you I could find and fetch her, and I did."  
  
His brother was not pleased. "A forfeit? A forfeit? That's all you can think about? You nearly stopped your heart, Elrohir! Trying something only the oldest of us should attempt! What would I have done had you killed yourself? Did you stop to think about that? Gone home to Father and said, 'I am very sorry sir, but we had this wager, you see.'? I think the hardships of our journey have unhinged your mind! I have half a mind to stop by Lorien on the way home and let Grandmother sort you out--I'm not sure I feel safe alone in the Wild with you!"  
  
"Peace, Elladan," my saviour said into his shoulder," And remember your manners. It is ill done of you to rescue the maiden and then complain of how much trouble it was! Imagine how that makes her feel. Besides, we're not done yet, though the worst of it is over." He looked over at me, and saw that I was frankly gaping, because I had just realized who the two of them were. He reached out, and with a gentle hand pushed my jaw up and shut.  
  
"I am Elrohir, son of Elrond, and this carping fellow," and he patted his brother on the shoulder, "is my brother Elladan. We have come to take you back." He stepped back from his brother, and gestured that I should come between them. "There is still some way to go. Come thou then, and walk between us, for," and he gave me a sideways, slanting glance full of devilish glee, " he doesn't feel safe alone with me!"  
  
  
It had been, I reflected as I walked along with the sons of Elrond, a very strange week. I could not imagine how they had come to aid me in my plight, and told them so.  
  
"Well as to that, you are a bit behind the times, Hethlin Blackbow, through no shame or fault of your own," said Elrohir. " You have been here for two days now. Minas Tirith was beseiged yesterday, and much of the first circle burned."  
  
"The Black Captain broke the Gate this morning," Elladan said quietly. "Fortunately, Mithrandir was there. The Rohirrim arrived, and he vanished."  
  
"The Rohirrim? How came they here? The last we heard, their road was blocked by a mighty host."  
  
"They came by a secret path," said Elladan. Elrohir added with a grin, "It's become something of a fashion. In any event, they came, the Lord of the Nazgul left to deal with them--and was destroyed by the White Lady of Rohan."  
  
"Eowyn of Rohan was there?" this was getting more and more confusing. "How could she destroy him? How could anybody?"  
  
"She rode with the Rohirrim in secret, and when her uncle Theoden fell and the Witch-King stooped upon him, she smote him, and he was destroyed," said Elladan. "There is an old prophecy that not by the hand of man would he fall. Apparently, it was true. So now Eomer is King of Rohan."  
  
"We came with the King of Gondor, up the River, on ships we'd taken from the Corsairs of Umbar, using an army of the ancient Dead," Elrohir added helpfully. "Is this making any sense at all?"  
  
"No! There's a King now?"  
  
"Yes, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dunedain and Isildur's Heir. He was reared in Imladris as our foster brother. We brought with us a great host from the coastal lands and won the day. The City is safe for now. And this is where you come in."  
  
"Aragorn will not permit himself to be crowned until the conflict with Sauron is won," continued Elladan, " but he is the true King, and as such, carries within him the gifts of kingship--including that of healing. Your Lord Faramir, Eowyn of Rohan, and the Halfling Meriadoc, who is a friend of Aragorn's and in service to the King of Rohan, were sore wounded and their lives despaired of. But Aragorn came into the Houses of Healing and called them back, and they are resting peacefully now and will heal in time." I sighed in relief to hear that Faramir was safe, and Elrohir smiled, and took up the narrative.  
  
"Aragorn went back to the camp to get some rest and food. But he was soon beset by people begging aid for their kin and friends who'd been wounded in the siege, or the battle. So since my brother and I have some small skill in the art, he summoned us, and we set forth to do what we could. It was not long after we set forth that we were ambushed by Rangers! A large number of formidable men, all dressed in brown and green and bristling with arrows and swords, demanded that we come to the aid of one Hethlin of Anorien. They gave us many cogent arguments as to why we should heal you before anyone else--"  
  
"--They surrounded us, and made us come," put in Elladan. I closed my eyes, and groaned at the picture of the Company of Ithilien abducting the sons of Elrond.  
  
"--So we came with them, and there you were, and the Valar themselves must have sent your friends to us, for it was apparent when we first looked upon you that you were too far gone into the realms of spirit to be retrieved by any normal means, or even by Aragorn. But we came up with a clever plan--"  
  
"--YOU came up with the clever plan. I take no credit for it!--" snapped Elladan. Elrohir sighed.  
  
"--Very well, I came up with a clever plan. We are twinborn, so I proposed that Elladan send his spirit forth as far as he could, and then anchor me, while I sent mine out as well. Thus could we double the distance."  
  
"And triple the peril."  
  
"You worry entirely too much, Elladan. It worked, did it not? And now the lady Ranger is with us, and we will return her to her body, and the large men in green and brown will be happy. And then maybe we can get some rest."  
  
"Return her we will, my brother, " said Elladan somberly, his shining eyes fixed on some distant horizon, "But there will truly be no rest for anyone until this war is over."  
  
  
Gradually, the greyness began to fade away, become lighter and lighter. I began to hear voices. The sons of Elrond stopped, and turned towards me. "It's time, Snowsteel,:" said Elrohir, ruffling my white hair. "You do it, Elladan. I'm still weary from the retrieval."  
  
Elladan looked at me somberly for a moment, then gave me a smile of singular sweetness.  
"No love truly given is ever to be pitied, Hethlin. Think you on what your love has enabled you to achieve thus far! And I will give you this much, for I am somewhat a dreamer myself--if we all win through this war, there will come a time when he will turn to you for something only you can give him, though it may be far in the future as you mortals reckon time. I know no more than that, but it may comfort you in the difficult days to come. Then again, it may not. I know somewhat more of mortals than most of my kind, but I do not pretend to understand them!"  
  
He took my face in his hands then, and kissed my brow. There was a horrible lurch, and I was lying in a very soft bed, and everything hurt again. Ever so slowly, I opened my eyes. There was a stone ceiling overhead, and the flickering light of candles.  
  
"Heth?" I turned my head, and saw Mablung sitting beside the bed, with Anborn, Damrod and several of the others standing about the room. The sons of Elrond were sitting on a couple of chairs beside the wall, Elrohir with his head on Elladan's shoulder. Even in their corporeal forms, their eyes seemed to hold perpetual starlight.  
  
"Is she all right? Why isn't she saying anything?"  
  
"She went farther than I would have thought possible for a mortal to go and return," Elladan said softly. "She may be a while coming back all the way."  
  
Painfully, I lifted my hand, and made a feeble gesture in the direction of my cheek. I licked my lips, which were very dry, and emitted a faint, croaking voice.  
  
"Look. Anborn. We match."  
  
Laughter erupted in the room then, laughter loud enough that it brought the Warden of the Houses of Healing down upon my friends, chastising them, and driving them forth under protest. He examined me briefly, owned himself amazed at my progress, gave a courtesy to the sons of Elrond, and left. They talked between them in very low voices for a while, then slung their cloaks on and went to the door, Elladan blowing out the candles as he went. I was alone in the dark with my thoughts and fears, dreams and wishes. But at least it wasn't grey. 


	8. The Houses of Healing

As Elladan had predicted, it took me a long while to come all the way back. For two days, I simply lay in my bed in the Houses of Healing, drifting in and out of consciousness, swallowing whatever the healers offered me without complaint. On the second evening after my awakening, Mablung came to see me.  
  
"We're leaving in the morning, Heth. I'm taking the Rangers back out with the Captains of the West. We're going to the Black Gate. The King and Mithrandir have some sort of plan going, but I don't know what it is."  
  
I tried to wake up, become more aware. "I should be going with you."  
  
"There's no denying I wish you were, girl. But it may be better this way. If we fail there--and I don't see how we can succeed, we've only got seven thousand to take with us--then they'll be back here again. The Captain will need you with him then, Heth. So get back on your feet quick as you can, and get that bow arm working. I'll be a lot happier if I know you're here guarding his back and looking after him."  
  
"I'll do my best, Mablung." I looked at him gravely for a moment. "You were right, you know. About aiming too high. I realized it when I was......lost."  
  
"Aye, I know. And I'm sorry for you, Heth. I know how much that must hurt." He looked down at his feet for a moment, then back up at me. "I'm going to kick myself later for saying this, but here it is anyway."  
  
"It seems to me that if the world ends, the rules change. So if we don't come back, and they come back here again to end things, promise me you'll tell him. I'd rest easier if I knew you'd taken what joy you could before going down in the dark."  
  
I held up my good arm to him, and he got a little red in the face, but bent down and let me embrace him. Giving him a kiss on his slightly bristly cheek, I said softly into his ear, "I promise. But not until the world ends. The Valar guard and guide you, Mablung, and the others too."  
  
"And you and the Captain, and the ones we leave behind, Heth." He straightened up, made a funny harrumphing noise, squeezed my hand, and left. I lay, and watched the flickering shadows on the wall for a while, and then fell asleep once more.  
  
  
The next morning I was feeling somewhat better, and was just finishing breakfast when a dark head peered around my door.  
  
"May I come in, Hethlin?"  
  
"Of course, Captain!" I could not entirely hide the pleasure in my voice, but then he looked happy to see me as well.  
  
"I've stopped by several times over the last couple of days, but you were always asleep. I was beginning to despair of ever finding you awake!"  
  
"I am sorry, my lord, but I was very tired."  
  
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Hethlin." He came in and sat on the chair by my bedside. I studied him in between bites of my porridge. He looked somewhat pale still, but I could not tell if that was the pallor of illness, or the black tunic he was wearing. His left arm was in a neat, white sling, but he did not look uncomfortable. He looked, in fact, better rested than I'd seen him look in some time. But something about the way he held his mouth, and the look in his eyes, told me that something was amiss.  
  
"What has happened, Captain? You are troubled about something."  
  
"Your eyes are entirely too sharp, Heth." He settled back in the chair carefully. "But I will not burden you with my problems on your sickbed."  
  
"My lord, if you feel the need to tell someone of your troubles, then I am here, and it is no burden."  
  
"I will tell you of my troubles if you will tell me how you came by this," and he reached out and lifted a lock of my hair.  
  
"You have nightmares enough of your own, my lord, without giving mine the opportunity to disturb your sleep."   
  
"Hmmm. It seems we will have little to speak of then, other than rumor and current events." He gave me a pained, quizzical look. Tell me truthfully--did Mablung and the rest of them really kidnap the sons of Elrond?"   
  
"To quote Lord Elladan--'They surrounded us, and made us come.'" He groaned, and rubbed his temple with his good hand.  
  
"Remind me never to be wounded again. The diplomatic situation will not support it."  
  
"I would prefer that you not be, my lord." He looked at me then, and smiled.  
  
"I imagine so! I make so much work for you otherwise." I blushed, and he laughed, and took my good hand in his. "Thank you, Heth, for saving my life. My uncle told me about what you did. He's quite impressed with you, by the way."  
  
"And I am quite impressed by Prince Imrahil. He is a good man, a gentle knight, a valorous commander--and he has a stable full of really excellent horses."  
  
"My goodness! From you, there is no higher compliment! I shall have to tell him when he returns," and here he looked sad for a moment, "of the high regard in which you hold him. He'll be very complimented, I'm sure." He squeezed my hand gently, and got up to leave.  
  
"I must go see some of the others, and make sure Lorend isn't up to something. Are you able to read anything? And would you like to? I could bring you some books "  
  
"Well, I have the one you gave me," and he looked pleased at that, "but could I have something that's not in Elvish as well? I don't translate very well or fast, and it tires me out."  
  
"There are some at the Citadel that you might like, and I will have them sent for."  
  
"My lord is kind."  
  
"Your lord is fortunate in his friends." He saluted me, and departed. I sat smiling foolishly for some time after he left, then returned to my breakfast, and found the porridge cold.  
  
  
I tried to get up that day, and walk a bit about my room, and found my legs had no strength in them at all. But I forced myself to it, and did a little more the next day, and even more the day after that, remembering what Mablung had said. Faramir came the next morning, and stayed a little longer that time, perceiving that I wished for company and was strong enough to enjoy it. As promised, he brought books, and we spent a pleasurable time poring over them. The morning after, he brought something rather different.  
  
"This is not official yet, for I have not been sworn in, but it will become so very soon, and I wanted you to start thinking about it." 'This' was a parchment, made out most formally, granting one Hethlin, daughter of Halaran, called Blackbow, a captaincy in the City Guard. And it was signed Faramir, Steward of Gondor. I was so bemused by the signature that the significance of the first part escaped me for quite a while.  
  
"Your father. That's what has been troubling you all this time. What happened to him, my lord?" For answer, he said nothing, but raised his eyebrows and his hand, and lifted a strand of my hair meaningfully.  
  
"My lord, please do not press me on this matter. It happened because of a dream. It was naught but a dream. Really, it was!" Rather to my surprise, my voice rose suddenly, and I started to tremble.  
  
"Heth, no one knows better than I how troubling dreams can be. Sometimes, it helps to tell someone else about them." He looked concerned. How many times in his unhappy youth had he sat down with his elder brother and confided his dreams? How many times had Boromir had to calm and soothe him?  
  
"I don't want to talk about it! I don't want to think about it!" Suddenly, it was as if all the color drained out of everything, and I was looking at him through a mist. Chills wracked my body. Faramir, for the first time since I'd known him, looked absolutely shocked.  
  
"Oh, Heth, I'm sorry! Valar, I didn't mean to--" He quickly removed his arm from the sling, leaned toward me, and took me into his arms, laying my good cheek against his good shoulder. His uninjured arm held me tightly, and his left hand rose and carefully stroked my hair.  
  
"Shhhhh. Hush now. Of course you don't have to speak of it if you don't wish to!"   
  
Reality and warmth came flooding back, though I was still trembling. My nose was pressed against his neck, and I could feel the heat of his flesh and the beat of his pulse, fairly fast--apparently, I'd surprised him badly. I could also smell the pleasant, spicy scent of whatever soap he'd used to wash with that morning. A strand of soft black hair was tickling my face. I burrowed deeper into his shoulder, his arm tightened reflexively, and I addressed a silent prayer to the Valar to the effect that if they'd ever wanted to take my soul directly to them, now would be the perfect time. The Valar, however, were not listening, and I continued to live.  
  
"It was the Witch-King," I murmured at last into his neck. He stiffened slightly, his hand continuing to stroke my hair.  
  
"After we took you to your father, Mablung and I went to the Houses of Healing to get patched up. After that, we went to the Ranger barracks, and I fell asleep. He drew my spirit from my body, and brought me to him."  
  
"How did he do that?" Faramir's voice was quiet, soothing. I sighed into his neck (he jumped a little--it must have tickled), and relaxed a bit.  
  
"He had a charm, a little amulet. It was an eagle, I think. Apparently, one of my ancestors had bound himself over to him long ago in Angmar, and he was able to use that binding to draw me to him."  
  
"Did you see him?" A brief vision flashed across my sight, and I tensed back up.  
  
"Aye, my lord, I did. And I would to Eru that I had not! He brought me before him, and picked through my mind as if he were searching a rubbish heap for a treasure he had lost. He showed me visions of the armies that were being sent against us." Though I did not wish to leave Faramir's arms, ever, I straightened up and looked him in the eye. Our faces were very close.  
  
"If what he showed me is true, and the Captains of the West fail, I do not see how we can prevail, my lord."  
  
Faramir gave me a sad smile, and touched my unwounded cheek gently. "I know, Heth. But we must try to be hopeful, nonetheless. What was it he wanted? To simply taunt you with the knowledge of our ultimate destruction?"  
  
"He wanted me to kill your uncle." It came out rather flatly. The new Steward absorbed this, and nodded. "Of course. He was in command. He didn't ask you to kill Mithrandir as well?"  
  
I sat up a little straighter. It increased both the distance between us, and my composure.   
  
"He knew everything there was to know about me at that point. Including my capabilities. He set me a task within my means, and promised great rewards if I accomplished it."  
  
"What sort of rewards?" He was giving me his total attention, as he always did when debriefing his men. I responded in kind, calmer now, making a report to my Captain.  
  
"Oh, the usual. Riches. Power. Kingdoms to rule. You know, that sort of thing. Oh, and--" I added it offhandedly, as an afterthought, "he said that he might even prevail upon Sauron to spare you, if I pleased him well enough."  
  
"Well! I suppose I should be flattered to be the recipient of such consideration! I wonder what he thought I would do, should I be spared?"  
  
Whatever I wanted, I thought, but of course did not speak of such a thing aloud. "I have no idea. Perhaps he thought you might be....convinced to be cooperative?"  
  
He shook his head. "Not very likely! But then, he promised to leave me alive, not leave me alone....." he shuddered a bit, then recovered himself. "What happened after that?"  
  
"What do you think happened? Do I look like I said yes? Can you even think that I would?" I saw no need to tell him of my moment of temptation.  
  
"Was I wandering the Grey Lands for two days because I agreed to deal with the Dark Lord? I told him no! And then he.... he grew very terrible." I shivered again, and Faramir took my hand and squeezed it. "It went very badly after that. He told me that you would die. That he had set a fire in your flesh." He started at that. "That I would wander till my soul faded away, and you would die in torment. Then he sent me to the Grey Lands, and I was there till Elrohir and Elladan brought me back. You know the rest of it."  
  
He got up suddenly, and began pacing slowly about the room. "Heth, did anyone ever speak to you of what happened to me?"  
  
"No. I wasn't even awake much till Mablung came to tell me goodbye. And some of the others visited, but I think they were under orders not to say anything to upset me."  
  
"And that was as it should be. But what you just said here.....I became fevered after you brought me in. The healers could do nothing about it. It was thought that I would die. My father....we had not parted well. He was remorseful and distraught."  
  
I personally thought it was well past the time that Denethor, Steward of Gondor, should have shown some regret for how he had mistreated his younger son. But saying so would have only grieved Faramir, so I forbore. He stopped pacing, slim and princely in his black, and looked at me from across the room.  
  
"The seige was not going well. And for a long time, my father had been utilizing an ancient artifact of the kings of old. A palantir...a seeing stone. The Dark Lord had directed his visions, and entered his mind. I think he saw much the same sort of thing the Witch-King showed you. The combination of that, and the grief he felt for me, and what looked to be the failure of the defense of the City...it caused him to despair, and his mind was overset."  
  
"I knew it!"  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"When we brought you to your father, I had a feeling that something bad was going to happen. I told Mablung that I wished we could take you to the Houses of Healing instead."  
  
Faramir came back over to the chair, and seated himself. "Well, 'tis said that most of the Dunedain have foresight. Perhaps yours was active at that moment." He didn't frown, exactly, but he got the line between his brows that happened when he was thoughtful or sad. I reached out and took his hand and pressed it gently, and he smiled a small smile in acknowledgement of my attempt to comfort.  
  
"Father decided to make his own end, rather than wait for the one the minions of Sauron would give him. So he had me borne to the House of the Stewards on Rath Dinen, and had his servants build a pyre. It was his intention to burn himself alive, and me with him, thus sparing me a worse fate. I suppose," and here his voice turned bitter as I had rarely heard it, "that it was his way of expressing his affection."  
  
"Valar!" I swore. "How was it you came to be saved?"  
  
"The perian, Pippin, was my deliverance, can you believe it? He was sworn to my father's service, and was waiting upon him when he decided upon his plan. He fled, and begged a Guard of the Tower, Beregond by name, to delay matters while he sought Mithrandir. Beregond did so, forsaking his post and slaying a couple of my father's servants. Pippin found Mithrandir, and the wizard bore me away from my father. Whereupon, being thwarted of his intention of burning me, father tried to knife me instead. But he was forestalled again by Beregond, so he then settled for accomplishing his own death, and he took a torch from one of his servants, lit the pyre himself, laid down upon it, and perished. I was carried here, and when the King came, he called me back. So now, like you, I am orphaned indeed. And Steward indeed. Which enables me to give things like this out." And he indicated the parchment that had lain, quite forgotten, on the bed all this time.  
  
My hand still lay upon his. "I grieve for you, my lord. I cannot say I ever liked your father, but I know what it is to loose all your family."   
  
"I know you do, Heth. And I thank you. My father....was not an easy man to like."  
  
Nor to love, I thought, though I'd watched Faramir tear his soul asunder trying. It was well past time for a change of subject. So I took up the one he had offered.  
  
"My lord, what mean you by this? I am not ready for such an elevation." I looked at the warrant. " A captaincy! Is it not customary to be a lieutenant first for a while? I have yet to lead so much as a patrol."  
  
"That is very true, Heth. But it is also true that in times of war, promotions come swiftly. Has not Mablung trained you well? Have I not? You have seen what it is to lead, and you are a quick learner. If the Enemy returns, I want captains I can count on, and I know I can count on you. You keep your head in a crisis, and if you think your superior officer is being a bone-headed fool," and here he actually smiled, praise Elbereth, "you'll tell him so."  
  
"What it comes down to is that I think you are competent enough to do this, for were I to promote you, and you unready, your men would suffer for it. I know I can trust you to care for them as much as I do."  
  
I felt very warmed, and very pleased. If one could not have love, then trust of this magnitude was something of a substitute.  
  
"How long do I have, Lord?"  
  
"What? To be on your feet?" I nodded.   
  
"The Captains reached Morgul Vale yesterday, and we've not had word today. It should take them a week to reach the Black Gate from here, if they do not encounter any major resistance. I need you up on your feet in a week, Heth, not bow fit, for I know that will not happen, but able to see to the training and organization of your archers. Your company will be formed of the Rangers remaining here, as they become fit, and some other odds and ends from other companies. You'll have your roster in three days. And Lorend for your lieutenant. Can you do this?"  
  
"I can, my lord." I was actually beginning to think I could.  
  
"Good."  
  
"My Lord?"  
  
"Yes, Heth?"  
  
"What will you do if the Captains actually win?" He considered that for a moment, and smiled.  
  
"Wouldn't that be lovely, Heth? I would lay my sword down as soon as I could--though I expect that even if Sauron is defeated, there will still be unrest for some time. And I would serve the King in whatever capacity he required of me. I would catch up on my reading! And take harp lessons again." He flexed his fingers reminiscently.  
  
"I didn't know you played the harp."  
  
"I don't, as minstrels reckon such things. I had some lessons as a child, so I can play a few songs. There were times when I thought about bringing one out from Minas Tirith so I could practice again. But Henneth-Annun was no place to keep a harp--too damp. What about you? I'd transmute your warrant to Captain of Rangers if you liked. Or the King might use you as a royal courier."  
  
"That would serve for a while, I suppose. I'd need the money to buy horses."  
  
"Ahh--you'd be a horse-breeder then?"  
  
"I think so. It sounds as good as anything." We sat in silence for a few moments, pleasantly contemplating a future with hope and happiness in it. Then Faramir stirred, rising from his chair and stretching with care.  
  
"I'm sorry I made you speak of the Witch-King, Heth. You frightened me there for a moment--you looked quite wraithish yourself."  
  
"I did not want to do it at first. But you were right, my lord--speaking of it did make me feel better."  
  
"I am glad of that then. I'm going for a walk in the garden. Would you like me to help you outside as well?" It was a tempting idea--more time in his company. But I was truly tired after the stress of recounting my meeting with the Witch-King, I'd already done my walking for the day and I wanted to lie in peace with my own thoughts for a while--and remember the feel of his arms around me.  
  
So I thanked him but declined, and he went out to the gardens alone, and as he walked there without me, the Warden of the Houses of Healing brought to him the Lady of Rohan. 


	9. The White Lady

Author's Note--This one's a little short, but I'm trying to get the play up-it opens Thursday, and is going well--thanks to all who asked. I have Microsoft Works, and I'm putting these up as text chapters. I really would like some italics. I need some italics. I am craving italics. With parmesan, maybe. Any computer literates out there have any ideas? Thanks.  
  
  
  
Take stance. Deep breath. Raise bow. Hold for count of one...two....three.....curse as shoulder flames into pain, necessitating lowering of bow. Repeat.  
  
"Heth. Stop that, or I'll set the Warden on you. Get that sling back on." Faramir strolled by with a smile on his face, his feet leaving footprints in the still dewy grass. He crossed the garden to where the White Lady of Rohan sat on a bench beneath some trees. Her pale face turned up to him, and she moved over obligingly enough to make room for him on the bench.  
  
"Just trying to get fit, my lord," I called over to him. "Before the end of the world and all."  
  
"I said you had to be on your feet in a week, Heth, and you're there already," he called back. "Don't overdo it." His head tilted to one side, he began to converse with the Lady Eowyn. Another sunny morning in the gardens of the Houses of Healing had begun.  
  
Three mornings ago, after he'd left me in my bed, Faramir had come out to the gardens, only to be greeted by the Warden and the Lady Eowyn. She'd had some complaint about the window in her room, or some such business. And my Captain, who'd seen enough of the horrors of war in the last few years to sicken several men, had taken one look at her pale and perfect loveliness and fallen hard. Now he spent his days in the gardens with her, walking and talking, pouring out his heart to her in a way that would have vanquished any other woman in an hour's time.  
  
But the Lady Eowyn of Rohan was no easy conquest. I supposed I should have been grateful for that, and about half of the time I was. The other half I spent offended that she was spurning something which I so greatly desired. Not that she rejected Faramir completely. No, she seemed happy in his company, and addressed him as 'friend'. But I could tell that though he was biding his time patiently, he was hoping that eventually she would turn to him for something more than friendship.  
  
I am a petty enough person that to see him in that position pleased me a little bit. Not that I would ever have truly wished him pain. But a little discomfort, some small suffering, just a tiny piece of the heartache that was growing in me day by day--those he could endure without distressing me overmuch. For I knew now that I would be forsworn in the end. Since he had given his heart to another, I would have to break my promise to Mablung. Never could I speak to him-- not if the Dark Lord himself was beating down the walls and the world ending indeed.  
  
I laid my bow on the bench, and picked up the leather roll that contained my fletching supplies. Fletching was something I could do when I tired of walking or reading, and it did not stress my shoulder overmuch if I was careful. Of course, it took three times as long as usual, but time was a commodity I had plenty of at the moment. I had almost finished repairing my old arrows, and was about to begin on a supply of new shafts. A casual glance across the garden showed that the happy couple were now walking about, deep in conversation. Faramir was smiling, which had happened more and more often over the last three days, and I was truly glad to see it, even if I deplored the cause of it. I could not hear what they were speaking of, nor did I try. He still checked upon the progress of his wounded Rangers every day, but now that I was upon my feet, and usually out in the gardens, he came not to my room, and there were no more confidences.  
Our relationship was currently that of Steward and Captain, and it was easiest upon me if it remained so.  
  
A servant in the livery of the Tower entered the garden as I finished stripping the old feathers off of the shaft. He went directly to Faramir, and spoke with him briefly, after which Faramir bowed to the Lady Eowyn and departed with him . I returned to my work. After a time, there came a sound of approaching footsteps, and a white skirt moved into view. I looked up, and found the White Lady looking down at me.  
  
Her hair was the proverbial river of gold, and unbound, fell past her hips. Her face was perfect, a sculpture in white marble. Her form was lithe and pleasing. I had a couple of inches on her in height and reach, but she looked like she might be faster on her feet when at her full strength, and probably tricky with it. I was reasonably sure that I could hit harder than she did. It would be interesting to spar with her, should the occaision arise. I had never thought to have the opportunity to fight another woman warrior.   
  
"Princess." I made to rise, but she forestalled me with a wave of her hand. "May I sit?" she asked. Her voice was low for a woman, throaty, with a slow, rolling sort of accent to it.  
  
"Please do." I slid my equipment over, and myself with it, and she seated herself gracefully. Her eyes were the ice blue of a winter's sky, and there was baffled puzzlement in them as she looked upon me. There was a mirror in the hall of the House, and I knew what she was seeing--a slightly mannish young woman with old hair and eyes, a huge purple bruise blooming over the right side of her face, and a line of tiny, neat stitches marching across her right cheek. At least the swelling had finally gone down, and I could chew with only a minimum of care.  
  
"Captain Hethlin, isn't it? I heard that right? You are a captain?"  
  
I smiled. "Only a very recent one, by the Steward's grace, my rank yet to be proven in the field."  
  
"But he did give you the rank."  
  
"Aye, lady. Though in truth, in time of peace it would have taken me far longer to achieve it. There's a bit of a captain shortage in Minas Tirith at present."  
  
"But you think that even in peace time, without such a ...shortage, you would have become a captain?"  
  
"Eventually, yes." She digested this for a moment.  
  
"How old are you?" My, we were getting personal quickly. Perhaps it was the way of the Rohirrim. I decided to respond in kind.  
  
"Twenty one. How old are you?"  
  
"Twenty four. How long have you been a soldier?"  
  
"I've been with the Rangers of Ithilien for three years now. How long have you been a Rider of Rohan?"  
  
"Less than a month. How does your family feel about you being a soldier?"  
  
"My family is dead. How does yours feel?"  
  
"I had to ride in secret. My uncle, Theoden King, is dead, and did not know that I rode with him. My brother, Eomer King, had little opportunity to speak with me ere he left for the Black Gate. If he returns, his wrath may well fall upon me yet."  
  
"My lady, if he returns from the Black Gate, and I do hope he does, I think he will be so relieved at being spared, and so joyful at seeing you again, that the only thing that will fall upon you will be his loving embrace."  
  
"Mayhap you are right. I certainly hope it is so. Three years, you say? I did not know the Gondorrim had a tradition of shield maidens."  
  
"We don't, really. Though there were ruling Queens in Numenor, long ago. Some of them may have led men into battle. My situation is a little unique."  
  
"But of course. You have the Lord Faramir's..... favor."  
  
It took a moment for that to sink in. Tricky indeed. A shot under the shield, and no mistake. Feathers and arrows flew everywhere, as I suddenly found myself on my feet with no recollection of how I'd gotten there, looming over the Lady of Rohan and snarling.  
  
"I am NOT a captain because I have the Lord Faramir's favor, whatever you mean by that, Princess! I'm a captain because I can put an arrow in the eye of a Mumak at a hundred yards! I'm a captain because in the last three years, I've killed more orcs and Haradrim than you have hairs on your pretty, golden head! I'm a captain because I rode under the shadow of the Black Riders and did not quail, and because I took down a mounted champion of Harad on foot, and armed with nothing but a knife! Get thee healed, my lady, and I will as well, and then we will send for our swords, and I will show you why it is I am a captain!"  
  
She did not quail, though her eyes widened at bit. Her glanced met mine, blue steel crossing grey, and after a moment, she nodded, as if satisfied about something.  
  
"Peace, captain! That was ill-done of me. I beg your pardon. Forgive me if you can. I am out of sorts with fear for my brother, and the Riders, and....all the others that went forth. To have no word like this....it is enough to drive one mad."  
  
"Indeed." I took a deep breath, and then another, and another yet. I was not, it seemed, tempermentally suited for a diplomatic career. "You are forgiven, lady." It was not a gracious pardon. After a moment, I bent down, and began to retrieve my scattered fletching supplies. She slid off the bench and began to help me. I glared at her, but she persisted. We both of us had only one good arm apiece, and the fletches had drifted everywhere, so it took a while.  
  
"In truth, I would like to cross swords with you, but in friendly rivalry," she said after a time.  
  
"The same thought had occured to me as well," I admitted grudginly. "You'd probably win, though--I'm better with a bow than a sword. I do mostly foot and horse archery--though I did pick up a bit of mounted sword skill here recently on the Pelennor."  
  
"Ah--so you like horses, then?" she asked eagerly. Two hours later, we were both kneeling on the ground in front of the bench, and I was showing Eowyn how to fletch arrows. During that time we had discussed the ride of the Rohirrim to aid the City, the retreat from Osgiliath, Great Horses We Had Known, her family, my family, and Grima Wormtongue (who, I agreed wholeheartedly, just needed killing). It was probably as well that there were no men present during the Grima discussion--it devolved into a gruesome numbering of the ways two women with reasonable martial skills could wreak vengeance upon a lower life form masquerading as a man.  
  
"My lady," I said during the pause in conversation that happened when we had finally slashed and minced him to our mutual satisfaction. "I would speak plainly if I may. I apologize in advance if I offend you--I am a stranger to the ways of courts."  
  
"Your manners would play well enough at Edoras," she replied. "In truth, I find your bluntness refreshing. So many of these Gondorrim talk in circles, afraid of giving offense, and never coming at what they truly wish to speak of. So speak your piece."  
  
"My lady, I can be no child's mother, so I will be no man's wife. Nor his whore. Your way is open, should you wish it so. I am not standing in your path."  
  
"To the Steward, do you mean?" She frowned thoughtfully.  
  
"Aye. He is my commander, and, I like to think, my friend. But there is naught else between us."  
  
"But you wish that there were." Her look was questioning, but not unkind.  
  
"Aye." I bowed my head. "By all the Valar, I do. But I do not wish him to know--it would do nothing but upset him, and spoil what little we do have. You will not tell him?"  
  
"He will not hear of it from me," promised Eowyn, now wrapping her cord around the arrow shaft with intense concentration. There was silence for a time, then she said, "The Lord Faramir is a gentle lord, and a good man. But I love another."  
  
Well! That was the best news I'd heard in a month of Sundays, as the irrepressible Master Gamgee would have said. But I endeavored to hide my glee under a more appropriate show of sympathy.  
  
"Is he at the Black Gate?"  
  
"He is the commander of the Armies of the West. It is the Lord Aragorn of whom I speak."  
  
"The King? But why is this a problem?" I was baffled. "Surely the Lady of Rohan is a suitable consort for the King of Gondor. I would think that his counsellors would urge him to wed you."  
  
"Aragorn does not return my affections. He respects me as a woman of rank, and would prefer that I contain myself within the bounds of friendship," Eowyn said softly, and my sympathy deepened and became real. For such a proud one to have humbled herself so, and been rejected--how horrible that must have been for her.  
  
"You wonder what you did wrong, what it is that you lack, don't you? You can't understand how you can feel so much for him, and he not feel it in return." She looked at me in utter understanding, and nodded.  
  
"I rode with Theoden King because I sought an honourable death in battle after Lord Aragorn's rejection, and it was not granted me. I am still alive, and he who was the cause of my grief in the first place is the one who drew me back from death. And now it is to do all over again."  
  
"Seek death in battle, you mean? Well, you'll get your chance soon enough, if the Captains fail."  
  
"As will you, Ranger captain. Will you be glad of it when it comes, since you may not have the man of your choice?" I shook my head.  
  
"No. I don't deny that it hurts--Gods, how it hurts sometimes! But there's too much I haven't done, and haven't seen. I haven't been to the North, where my family came from. I haven't seen the Misty Mountains. There are lots of nice horses I haven't ridden yet!" She chuckled at that. "And I have friends, good friends besides him. They would be hurt if I didn't fight as hard as I could for as long as I could." I finally got up off of my knees, gathered the fletching into my lap, and sat on the bench once more. Eowyn followed me.  
  
"Also, honor constrains me if nothing else would. Lord Faramir drew me from a river once and saved my life, and I discharged my debt to him on the field of the Pelennor. But the sons of Elrond--to them my debt has not been paid. Elrohir nearly killed himself seeking me in the Grey Lands. Elrohir himself! I don't know if I can make you understand what that means. I am Dunedan, and his uncle was the father of our whole race! And he risked himself for me! No, my life is not my own to spend. Or rather, it lies upon me to spend it as dearly as I can."  
  
She looked upon me with wonder. "You are stronger than I, Hethlin. I don't know if there is a word for how strong you are."  
  
"Oh, pfffffft! I have my weak moments, believe you me! Many of them quite recent, thank you!" I looked up, and saw Faramir returning.  
  
"Ah, here comes Lord Faramir now. I wonder what the errand was that drew him from your side, Lady."  
  
"Lord Hurin had somewhat he wished to confer with him about."  
  
"Matters of defense then. Well, if it concerns me, I'll hear about it soon enough."  
  
He approached us, and bowed to Eowyn. "Lady. Captain. How well you both look, and how nice it is that you are getting along so famously. I rather thought you would, you know."  
  
Eowyn and I looked at each other, smiled, and let that pass. She held up her arrow for Faramir's perusal.  
  
"I have fletched an arrow this day, my lord. And Hethlin says not even the Wise can tell where it would land once it left the bow! Though I have my suspicions." She pantomimed it leaving her, then flying around behind her, and striking her in the rump. He laughed, a smitten twinkle in his eyes, and took the arrow for inspection. I felt a sudden chill run down my spine, and shivered.  
  
Love her if you must, my lord, I thought as I watched them, but see her true. See her clear. She is fair beyond reckoning, and sorrowful as well, but she is not like your mother. Hers is not so gentle a soul. She claims to love another, and I cannot think she would give her heart for an idle fancy, nor take it back easily. And she is deathwished as well. I shuddered again, for the Powers that overlook a battlefield are drawn to the deathwished, and tend to grant their desires--often with ill effect on those nearest them.  
  
If you lessen her, make her the lady fair who needs your rescue, you trammel her as surely as your father did Finduilas. But she is not Finduilas. She will not die pining for the sea breezes of Dol Amroth. If she feels herself trapped, she will claw her way out of it. And the Valar protect anyone who gets in her way.  
  
"My lord, the healers are setting lunch on the table. I'm going to go in, and confer with Lorend on the duty roster this afternoon." Faramir nodded absently, still intent on Eowyn. She looked up at me and smiled.  
  
"I have enjoyed conversing with you, captain. We must do it again. I'm sure I could use at least one more fletching lesson before I become a master!"  
  
"Oh, at least, lady!" I bowed to them both, and went in, thinking how much easier it would have been if I could just have hated her. 


	10. The Windlord

Author's Note--More thanks to all who have reviewed and e-mailed to offer encouragement and advice! If this chapter seems somewhat unlikely, I refer you to the Bardings of Esgaroth, in the Hobbit.  
  
  
The next morning the wind was from the North, a reminder that winter had not quite losed its grip upon us. I was of a mind to stay within doors, but returning to my rooms after breakfast, I passed Faramir and Eowyn going out for their usual morning walk. Eowyn, who had not been well supplied of clothing on her arrival, was wearing a new cloak, dark blue and very beautiful, with stars about the hem and neck in silver. It suited her golden fairness.  
  
"Good morrow, my lady, my lord," I greeted them with a casual wave.  
  
"Will you not come out this morning, Hethlin?" inquired Eowyn.  
  
"Nay, my lady. For it is cold! I have an appointment to keep with my hearth and a couple of good books."  
  
"And you call yourself a Ranger!" jested Faramir.  
  
"Indeed I do, my lord. And willingly, when on duty, will I brave all manner of discomforts and weathers for the good of Gondor. But when off duty, I will seek my comforts, that I may better appreciate exactly what it is I'm defending!"  
  
"How curious! Merry said much the same thing to me this morning!" laughed Eowyn. Look close, my lord--does she seem shorter than yesterday?"  
  
Faramir eyed me appraisingly. "Perhaps she does. This sudden love of comfort is suspicious! I must consult with my loremasters--this could be the explanation for the origin of the Halflings!"  
  
I gave Faramir a dry look. "Did I mention that, along with the weather, I must also suffer the abuse of my superiors?" He grinned, and I shook my head.  
  
"Enjoy your walk, you two."  
  
"We thought to go up on the wall," said Faramir, drawing Eowyn away.  
  
"By all means!" I called after him. "There's all sorts of clean, crisp air out there--and you'll feel it all on the wall!" They laughed, and I returned to my hearth, poked up my fire, pulled off my boots, and curled up back in bed with my clothes on, and the blue book of Dol Amroth. But I found myself unable to concentrate, or indeed rest easily. I laid the Elvish aside, and picked up one of the books Faramir had lent me, but that was no better. There was a heaviness in the air, a louring, and I was uneasy. Suddenly, my bed covers seemed too entangling, almost clutching at me, and I struggled out from underneath them, cursing my ribs and shoulder.  
  
Out might be better than in after all. I threw the tabard of the Tower guard on over my jerkin, and slung my stained and faded Ranger cloak on over that. For no good reason that I could tell, other than it made me feel better, I buckled on my father's sword. Then I left the Houses of Healing, but not to go into the gardens. For the first time in a long time, I went out into the City.  
  
Overhead, clouds scudded by, grey and drear. There was something wrong about the very quality of the light, and the City was unusually quiet. The second circle, where many of the houses of the wealthy were, was never very noisy, but I slowly made my way down as far as the fifth, and the silence was everywhere. People were in the streets, going about their business, but they did it slowly, and looking over their shoulders. Knots of them gathered upon street corners, talking amongst themselves, but quietly. There were no arguments, no sounds of children laughing, no street vendors hawking their wares. The City Guard were uneasy as well, standing with their hands upon their sword hilts, responding unconsciously to the feeling in the air. One of them saw me, and waved me over.  
  
"You came from the upper circles," he said. "Has there been any news? We have not seen a courier in days, but I thought one might have gone up a back way, and we missed him."  
  
"Nay. I was with the Steward himself but a short time ago, and he said naught."  
  
"The army would have had time to reach the Black Gate by now, would they not?" His eyes were constantly roaming, looking for threats.  
  
"Aye, if they met no resistance along the way, they should be there right now, Valar save them."  
  
"Valar save them," he responded automatically. Then he looked at me sadly. "An ill thing it would be, to gain a king at last and lose him so quickly."  
  
I looked upward, to the second circle, and could dimly discern a blue and gold shape upon the walls, a black-clad one close by.  
  
"Aye. An ill thing indeed. Many would be saddened by such a loss." And I saluted him, and departed, and began the long, slow trudge back upward. For a feeling was upon me that I should seek high ground.  
  
In time, I passed the second circle and came to the Citadel itself, though I had to rest a couple of times, for it was uphill, and I had not walked so far in a long while. My ribs were paining me, but I ignored them, and gave the password to the gate guards, and so gained entrance to the Citadel ramparts, the highest point in the city save the tower of Ecthelion, to which I did not have access.  
  
I went to the eastmost point of the wall, and from there, I looked further east still, to the Mountains of Shadow. I thought about my friends, and what they were doing at this moment, for I knew in my heart that battle had been joined at last.   
  
It was said that the land before the Black Gate was bare and ruined, pocked with pits and crevasses. There was no good high ground, and nothing to fortify. As few in number as they were, they would have to form a shield wall to be effective, which meant that the Rohirrim and the Swan Knights would have had to send their beloved horses to the rear, and fight on foot. The Rangers would be in the second rank, shooting over the heads of the first, picking their targets, and making each arrow count, Mablung cursing anyone who shot too quickly without taking proper aim. The Grey Company? I imagined they would be with their Chieftain and King, Mithrandir too--he had been a great sponsor of Aragorn's. Elladan and Elrohir would stand with him as well, as his foster kinsmen, bringing war to Sauron even as had their father in ages past. I could almost see Elrohir's devilish grin, defiant in the face of certain doom. And poor little sweet-faced Pippin--hopefully Mithrandir would keep him close, since he'd been so lost to reason as to let the halfling ride with them. I knew that Merry missed him sorely.  
  
How the Rohirrim and Swan Knights would be deployed, I did not know. Perhaps on either flank, with the men of Gondor in the middle. I sent a special prayer forth on behalf of the Prince Imrahil, who was so dear to Faramir, and so important to his well-being. And another on behalf of King Eomer, who I did not know, for Eowyn's sake. There were enough of us kin-wrecked by this war already--she did not need to be another. The third, and last, was for my friends the Rangers--Mablung, Anborn, Damrod and all the others. Please preserve them, I asked the Valar, and bring them safely home. Please.  
  
No sooner had I done so when the wind that had blown so strongly all that morn suddenly failed, all the color seemed to leach out of everything, and a vast silence fell. I thought at first that I might have fallen into a waking vision, as I had done when Faramir questioned me about the Witch-King. Then I looked down and saw that all the people in the City were standing absolutely still and waiting for they knew not what. A great darkness began to rise above the mountains in the East, and it swelled enormously and seemed to loom over us, and there was lightning in it. And I felt the very walls of the City beneath me, walls that were founded by men who remembered the lost arts of Westernesse, I felt those walls tremble on their foundations, and a vast sigh rise up from the very land itself.  
  
I was wondering if the City itself was mourning, if even now the man who would be king of Gondor was falling beneath his standard, when suddenly the wind rose again, and blew the cloud wrack away, and the Sun came out. I looked down at the second circle, and saw that Faramir and Eowyn had drawn close together--was he kissing her?--but that didn't even matter, for suddenly, my heart was filled with joy, and I knew that something wonderful had happened. And I turned my face up to the Sun, and cried out in gladness, and below me in the City, people were doing the same, and many of them were singing, and the few boys left in the City were dashing about and whooping with glee.  
  
I was still on the wall, basking in the Sun, when the Eagle came with his great news of the overthrow of Sauron, and the return of the King. And I heard his words, but scarce noted them, for at the very sight of him, a light blossomed in my heart and my mind, and I seemed to know him, and how the wind felt beneath his wings, and how the world looked unfurling so far below. He gave his great news, and I loved the look of him soaring high in the sky, then he turned to fly eastward once more, and I was filled with sorrow at losing something so precious to me that I'd never known I was missing. And I held out my hand in entreaty, and called out, something wordless but forlorn.  
  
And lo! the Eagle's wing dipped, and he came about, and to my wonder and delight flew straight back towards me. The guards cried out in alarm, and scattered to give him room as he backwinged in to land upon the ramparts. His great claws grated upon the stone as he turned his head and regarded me with one huge, molten gold eye.  
  
"You are far from your eyries in the North, nestling."  
  
I bowed very low. "I was fledged in the South, Windlord." Something prompted me to add, "My kill is yours." The Eagle dipped his head in acknowledgment.  
  
"And my kill is yours, nestling. Are there others of your house here?"  
  
"Nay, Windlord. Hethlin daughter of Halaran am I, but my father and family were slain three years ago."  
  
"So your nest is now empty. My sorrow to you." I bowed once more, in acknowledgment of his courtesy, and he continued. "I did not ever speak to Halaran, but I knew of him. My brother Landroval bespoke him more than once, and will be grieved to hear of his death. You should get you North, nestling, and find a mate and build a new nest, that the House of the Eagle not end."  
  
Much as I loved and admired the Eagle, I was not prepared to discuss my dynastic prospects with him. "Perhaps I shall, Windlord. Can you give me news of certain Lords who rode forth? The Swan Lord, and the King of Rohan--do they still live? And the sons of Elrond? And how fared the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers?"  
  
He gave a cawing sort of chuckle. "Keen my eyes are, but they do not mark every man in an army! Are you certain there are not one or two more you would know of?" I blushed, but persisted.  
  
"Well, now that you mention it, the halfling, Pippin. I had forgotten him." The Eagle blinked, and cocked his head so that he was looking at me from the other eye.  
  
"The little one is somewhat hurt. A troll fell upon him. But the King will heal him, it is hoped." I was grieved, for though I'd never even spoken to Pippin, he was one of my favorite people by virtue of his service to Faramir. I wondered again what had possessed the wizard to include him in the army.  
  
"As to the others--the Swan Lord and the King of Rohan are unscathed, as are the sons of Elrond. Though one of those could do with a bit of scathing, if you ask me!" I pondered the possible sorts of mayhem Elrohir could have done to the Eagle, and grimaced sympathetically. "The Captain of the Rangers....hmmm, would he be a somewhat broad man, clad in green and brown, with an interesting command of your human tongue?" I smiled happily.  
  
"Aye, that's Mablung."   
  
"He took an orc arrow in the arm, late in the battle. His language became even more interesting after that. But I do not believe it was poisoned, and he took no further wound, though he was most wroth that he could no longer shoot."  
  
"My thanks to you for the news, Windlord."  
  
"It is my pleasure, daughter of the House of the Eagle. Should you come North to build your nest, we would be glad. But now, I must return to the Armies--it has been a busy morning, and there may be somewhat more that Mithrandir wants me to do." He dipped his head politely, and I bowed again, and once more words came unbidden to me.  
  
"Fair air and good hunting, Windlord."  
  
"And to you, nestling." And he turned about on the wall, spread his wings, fell forward into the air, and soared off. Leaving me with a warm feeling beneath my breastbone, news both happy and sad to impart to others--and a number of extremely amazed guards, who cleared out of my way in a hurry as I made my way back downstairs. I could feel many eyes upon me as I passed through the courtyard and out the gate of the Citadel, but I heeded them not, and walked with my head high, for I was Hethlin of the House of the Eagle, and if a Windlord deigned to have speech with me, well, that was all in a day's work.  
  
  
Returning to the Houses of Healing, I found that Faramir and Eowyn were in the gardens once more, sitting together, and he had her hands in his and looked very happy. And despite her assertions about the Lord Aragorn yesterday, she did not seem to mind his attentions. Faramir greeted me as I came up.  
  
"Finally decided to brave the weather, did you, Heth?"  
  
"I've been out for quite a while, my lord. I went down to the fifth circle earlier, then up to the Citadel. And I have news."  
  
"Better news than that which we already have?" Perhaps his happiness was not all due to the Lady of Rohan. Beyond all expectation the war was over, and he must have been feeling as giddy as a man who had had a death sentence commuted.  
  
"Not better, but more specific. I was on the Citadel ramparts, and bespoke the Eagle, and thought to ask him for news of your kin. And yours as well, Lady," I turned to Eowyn.  
  
"The Eagle spoke to you?" Faramir asked, amazed.  
  
"Well, he was speaking to everyone in the City, wasn't he? It wasn't as if he couldn't talk! Yes, he spoke to me. Apparently, his brother knew my father, or something like that. Just add it to the evergrowing list of things my father never told me."  
  
"What did he tell you?"  
  
"That I should return to the North, and build a nest." Eowyn's eyes widened, and she hid her mouth behind her hand. Faramir just raised his eyebrows. "But as concerns your business--Prince Imrahil and King Eomer are both alive and well, or were when he left them this morning."  
  
Faramir sighed deeply, and his shoulders slumped a little, a lessening of tension that told me he must have been worried indeed for his uncle's safety. Eowyn sighed as well, and her eyes were suspiciously bright, but she kept her composure.  
  
"Oh, these are glad tidings indeed, Hethlin! Thank you for bringing them!" she exclaimed.  
  
"I would that all my news were as good. The halfling, Pippin, is injured. Not deathly so, I think, from the way the Eagle was talking, but seriously enough. Apparently, a troll fell upon him. The King was going to heal him. My lady, would you be so kind as to tell Merry? I don't know him all that well, and such news always comes better from a friend."  
  
"Of course. I will seek him out presently."  
  
"My lord, I forgot your cousin Elphir was with your uncle. I did not think to ask after him."  
  
"That's all right, Hethlin. I expect you had a few things on your mind. Speaking to Eagles!" he chuckled. "Did you ask about Mablung?"  
  
"Aye. He took an arrow in the arm, late in the battle, and couldn't shoot anymore. But he's not too sorely injured."  
  
"Then they were probably wishing he'd been hurt worse before the end. He's always most inclined to tell others how to conduct their business when he can't fight himself."  
  
"My lord, with the king returning, does this mean you're out of a job?"  
  
Faramir looked thoughtful. "I don't know, Heth. I don't think so--kings need stewards to take care of the little day-to-day matters of running a kingdom. My family were stewards before they became the Ruling Stewards, after all. I suppose it is possible that the Lord Aragorn might prefer someone else, perhaps one of his Northern kindred, to be his steward. If that were the case, I am sure he would allow me to serve him in some capacity--the house of Mardil has only been keeping his throne for him for several hundred years now!"  
  
"The Lord Aragorn is an honorable man," declared Eowyn, "and I am sure he will reward you most appropriately for your service to Gondor, my lord." He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, and smiled, then turned back to me.  
  
"If it's your captaincy you're worried about, Heth, all I can say is that I will do all I can to see that you get it. In Ithilien now, of course--you'll be getting a new roster when the Rangers return. I'm sorry you and Lorend had to do so much work forming the old company!"  
  
"That's quite all right, my lord, we needed the practice. And I much prefer a company patrolling Ithilien to a doomed fight on the City walls with no hope of victory! Do you really think the King will confirm my appointment?"  
  
"We will hope that he will acknowledge that I have the best understanding of the area and the situation, and will let my recommendations stand. Which are for two Ranger garrisons in Ithilien, in the north and the south. I want you for the north, at Henneth Annun, and I want Mablung for South Ithilien. North Ithilien will be the easier of the two, I think, with such a well established base of operations, and that's why you're going there, since you do not have the experience Mablung has." I nodded my agreement.  
  
"That would be the best. Though now that things are different, are you sure you would not rather make me a lieutenant instead?"   
  
"What is this, Heth? Cold feet? No, captain you are, captain you will remain."  
  
"But Damrod, and Anborn....they know far more of such things than I."  
  
"If Damrod and Anborn both live, they will be lieutenants. Mablung will have Damrod for his second. Anborn has no desire to command--he has told me so on any number of occaisions. I'll let him decide where he wants to serve."  
  
"Captain Hethlin, might I compliment you on the becoming modesty you have discovered since yesterday?" Eowyn twitted me with a grin. I got somewhat pink. "To be so willing to give up the rank you were so ardently defending but a day ago! It shows great depth of character!" Faramir looked at her, puzzled. I shook my head, and got pinker still.  
  
"Don't even ask," I told him, but Eowyn continued on, anyway. She had an instinct for the jugular, that was for sure.  
  
"Oh, it was my fault, really. I expressed my disbelief that she could be qualified to be a captain, and she presented me with many forceful arguments as to why she was, and in the end I was convinced."  
  
Faramir looked somewhat worriedly at the both of us for a moment, perhaps sensing past trouble, but was reassured by the lack of animosity between us. "Well then, it seems we must convince her to present those same arguments to herself, and maybe then there will be an end to all this waffling." I went from pink to red.  
  
"Sir!  
  
Eowyn laughed, but it was a kindly laugh. "Do not tell me you never had doubts as a new commander, my lord! You must give her at the very least the time you were given to adjust to your exalted position!" Faramir smiled at her, and conceeded.  
  
"Very well then, Heth--I won't tease you any more about it."  
  
"Thank you, my lord, I would appreciate that. But while we are on the subject, I had a thought." Actually, I was desperate to talk of something else, anything else. "There is little enough Lorend and I can do about the garrison till the Captains return, or we are fit enough to travel. But while I don't think I could ride to Henneth-Annun right now, I could certainly ride a desk. With your permission, I would like to offer my services to Lord Hurin for the time being. I write a fair hand, and I am tired of sitting about here idly." Eowyn unconsciously nodded agreement at that. "It may be that there is some clerk work I could do that would free up one of his able-bodied men to serve in some other capacity."  
  
Faramir considered this, and nodded. "That is well thought of, Heth, and I give my permission, and will speak to Hurin today. Come to think of it, there is much I need to be doing myself! The King is returning! I shall have to consult with the loremasters, and determine and prepare the proper ceremonies, and there is all the damage done to the City that must be repaired, or at least begun to be so. All the people will be returning, and many others will undoubtedly come for the coronation! We must see that they are all housed, and fed, and that order is kept in the City. I fear, my fair lady," and this was addressed to Eowyn, "that business may keep me from spending the time with you that you deserve, or that I would wish."  
  
Eowyn smiled graciously. "So long as you do not forget me entirely, my lord, I will be content. You need not explain to me about the responsibilities of rule! If I may aid you in any capacity, please tell me, for I too am somewhat restless and would have useful work to do."  
  
"My lady, you have done work enough! By your valor was the Captain of our Enemy slain, and in no small way did you contribute to the survival of our City. You are still not well, and I would not wish to face your brother's wrath, should he return here and find you less than rested and in good health. So rest, and heal--that is your job, and your duty."  
  
Eowyn looked somewhat disconsolate. Without thinking about what I was doing, I said, "My lord, the lady speaks and writes our tongue as well as any of us. Let her aid you in some way." She smiled upon me in surprised gratitude, but Faramir did not notice.  
  
"What, and have the King of Rohan come and find I've turned his sister into my clerk? It would not be appropriate, Heth! But I have had another thought. There is no use in you going to Hurin, when he would just have to supply me with staff. You know my habits, so it makes more sense for you to assist me directly, and Lorend too, if he is able. The two of you report to me at the Citadel tomorrow morning at the second hour past dawn. The time is past when I should have been up and about my duty." That was plainly dismissal, so I bowed to him, and to Eowyn, and left to return to my hearth and books at last, a somewhat surprised victor in a battle of a war whose rules I was still trying to understand. 


	11. The Steward

Author's Note--If you want to get Faramir's POV on this particular time in his life, then I highly recommend you read The Fire Sermon, by Altariel, who was kind enough to let me mooch some ideas for this chapter. It's great stuff.  
  
By the time Lorend and I reported to the Citadel the next morning, Faramir had been sworn in as Steward, with only Lord Hurin, the Marshal of the Riders and the Lady Eowyn in attendance. I own I was a bit hurt that I hadn't been invited, but I didn't tell him that. He was trying to learn the job of Steward in a time of crisis, with many matters to attend to and all seemingly of equal urgency, he was still not completely healed, and the continual reminders of his father's presence, in the form of much unfinished business, perpetually unnerved him.  
  
We worked far into the night most days, and over time, a certain distribution of responsibility took place. Lorend, with his bad leg, was easier in the saddle than I was with my broken ribs, so he became Faramir's aide in the field and general errand boy, while I remained in the Steward's office, organizing scrolls and paperwork, taking down the names and business of petitioners, and occaisionally intimidating people who had the idea that their business was more important than it actually was, and access to the Steward imperative. Much to my surprise, and a bit to my dismay, people in the Citadel were somewhat frightened of me. My unusual hair, the scar on my face, and the fact that I talked to giant eagles all combined to make me an uncanny creature, and I could hardly countenance some of the stories that were circulating about me.  
  
Lorend found it all hilarious, but Faramir, sensing my discomfort, made an effort to suppress the most outrageous rumors. Those days were something of a sweet torment for me, for I spent most of my waking hours in his company, more even than in Ithilien, for there I had shared him with two hundred Rangers, and now it was just the three of us. I had always been sensitive to his moods and wishes; here, I enjoyed a certain success anticipating his wants and needs, and received much approbation in return. The looks of surprised pleasure, the jokes, the friendly squeeze of my hand or shoulder--these I saved up in memory, against the day when he would return again to Eowyn. For he had no time for her now, was hard-pressed to do much more than send her the occaisional note. Lorend and I had been moved into rooms in the Citadel itself, down the hall but a little way from the one we'd stayed in with Mablung that memorable night, though we seldom saw our beds. We were too busy to be moving back and forth to the Houses of Healing, and in truth no longer needed to be there anyway. Any leechcraft we still required could be dealt with in a visit.  
  
I did feel sorry for Eowyn, left behind in the House with naught but the hobbit Meriadoc for company. Merry was her friend, and a sweet soul, but I was sure that there were things she could not speak of to him. We had much in common, she and I, Faramir being not the least, but I could not imagine her unburdening herself to the ladies who assisted in the House. Indeed, she seemed to find them a necessary evil, even as I would have, to be tolerated but not cultivated. And Faramir, whether she loved him or not, was nothing if not a good conversationalist, who could talk knowledgeably about a broad range of topics. What she was doing to fill her days right now, I had no idea. But I suspected it wasn't needlework.  
  
A week into Faramir's reign as Steward, he had a message he wanted delivered to the engineer overseeing the restoration of the Pelennor. The weather, which had been warmly sunny up to now, had turned grey, cold and windy, with the occaisional spit of rain. Lorend was unenthused about the errand, and I volunteered in his place.  
  
"For I've not been out of this building for a week, and if I don't get some fresh air soon, some of those stories they're telling about me are going to start coming true!"  
  
"You mean the ones where you eat babies, or feed them to eagles?" asked Lorend with relish. "Or the ones about you lurking in the deepest regions of the Citadel and drinking hapless victims' blood or the--  
  
"That will be quite enough, Lieutenant." Faramir quelled him with a severe look, then gave me an apologetic one.  
  
"I'm sorry, Heth, I hadn't even been thinking about it, but you're right, you have been rather penned up here. Take the errand, if you wish it--are your ribs sound enough to ride?"  
  
"If I take it slow." I assured him. "Write your message." He did so, and sealed it with the silver ring that had been his father's, and I took it and bowed, and left. I was almost out the door when a thought hit me, and I returned to my room and grabbed a spare tabard, then to Lorend's room to borrow his cloak. At the courier stables, I had them saddle a second horse while I attended to my own, then I mounted mine and led the other out of the courtyard.  
  
The Houses of Healing were within easy walking distance, and a short time later, I was tethering the two horses to a post in front of the door, and slipping inside. I knew where Eowyn's room was, and no one questioned my presence there--Lorend had delivered Faramir's messages to her often enough. A tired sounding "Enter" answered my knock on the door.  
  
I stuck my head in and found the Lady of Rohan sitting by the fire and doing.....needlework?  
  
"Somehow, I didn't picture you as the embroidery type," I said. Her look of sorrowful boredom changed to something resembling pleased surprise.  
  
"Captain Hethlin! Bring you a message from the Steward? Excellent! I would much prefer that you deliver them. That other fellow he always sends ogles me so."  
  
"Lorend? He's my lieutenant, so I give you permission to smite him. Repeatedly if necessary, and it probably will be." I came into the room and over to her, and looked down upon her handiwork.  
  
"Nice bird."  
  
She frowned down at it. "It's supposed to be a flower."  
  
"Oh. Sorry." I looked at it more closely for a moment. "Yes, I think I can safely say that you're another one who'll never be allowed near Mablung's neck."  
  
"I beg your pardon?" So I told her the tale of Mablung's neck, and certain comments Faramir had made about my sewing ability over the years, and she laughed and looked happier.   
  
Eventually, she asked me my reason for being there.  
  
"I've got to deliver a message down on the Pelennor, and I thought you might like to come with me. I've got two horses waiting outside."  
  
"I rather doubt that a ride on the Pelennor on a day like this is part of the Warden's plan to hasten my recovery," she said bitterly.  
  
"I wasn't planning on consulting the Warden," I replied, looking her straight in the eye. "Here." And I threw her the cloak and the tabard. Her blue eyes began to gleam. "If you want to come, get changed, and we'll do your hair up under the cloak." I didn't need to ask her twice. I stood with my back to her, watching the fire politely while she changed, and didn't turn till she asked, "Could you help me with this?" 'This' was her hair, which she couldn't braid with her injured arm, so I stood behind her, clumsily braided it, and tied it with a ribbon she provided..  
  
"My goodness, there's an awful lot of it."  
  
"Did you never wear your hair long?"  
  
"Not after I joined the Rangers. Too much trouble. And I was trying to pass for a lad. Here, just let it hang down your back, and we'll hide it with the cloak. And keep your hood up. If people find out who you are, you'll be getting all sorts of attention you might not want. You're a great hero in the City."   
  
"Will you get in trouble because of this?"  
  
"Oh, most likely. But I've been a very good girl for a very long time. And I was so tired of being cooped up in the Citadel that all I could think of when I got out was that you'd been cooped up here even longer."  
  
"That is very kind of you, Hethlin."  
  
"Maybe it is. I'm certainly not acting in my own best interest here! I just get irritated with the way they treat you sometimes. I know how I'd feel if they treated me that way."  
  
"Indeed. I am still puzzled as to why they do not. Treat you that way, I mean."  
  
"Surely it's obvious. I'm no use to them as a broodmare, so if I'm killed in battle, 'tis no great loss. That, lady, is the price of the freedom you crave."  
  
"Oh, Hethlin."  
  
"Well, enough of that! Here, walk you beside me. We go out fast, and like we have urgent business." She did as I bade her, and we made it out the door without incident. She tipped her head up to the sky for a moment and sniffed the air, then looked at the horse somewhat critically.  
  
"He's not much."  
  
"Neither of them are. But I can't handle a feisty war stallion right now, and if you say that you can, with a half-healed broken arm and after sitting on your arse all this time, I'll call you a liar to your face." Her laugh rang out loudly on the quiet street, as she saw to her girth and stirrups.  
  
"You must come with my brother and me when we return to Edoras! You would be very popular in Rohan."  
  
"Are you saying I should have been born blonde?" I asked, swinging up into the saddle.  
  
"I'm saying you're too honest and straightforward to be a good Gondorrim, and besides, our horses are better!"  
  
"No argument there, milady--though the Prince of Dol Amroth has some nice beasts."  
  
"Only because his family has been importing horses from us for generations," she replied smugly.  
  
"Well, if I'm allowed, perhaps I will travel with you. I would dearly love to see your herds."   
  
Eowyn finally mounted her horse, and we set off slowly through the streets. I gave her a running description of the restoration projects she saw going on around her, for after a week of intensive study, my knowledge of the City was far greater than it had been. She was obviously uncomfortably in the echoing stone avenues.  
  
"This place is so much bigger than Edoras. There are so many people!"  
  
"Before the War, fully a third of the City was uninhabited. I imagine that that will change soon, when the King returns. Before long, there won't be an empty window in the place." I realized after a moment that I had put my foot in my mouth. "Sorry about mentioning the King, my lady."  
  
"Oh no, Hethlin, it's quite all right. You may talk as you please! I am so grateful to be out of those walls! But I must say, you are certainly an adaptable person! You've been a farmer's daughter, and a Ranger, and now you're a clerk. What will you be next?"  
  
"A Ranger captain, hopefully! If not that, then maybe a King's courier. And after that, maybe eventually, a horse breeder."  
  
"Hmmmmm. Well then, perhaps your kindness to me is in your own best interest after all!" I started to make an indignant denial, then looked at her, saw that she was grinning at me, and laughed myself.  
  
"Perhaps it is!" We passed out of the Gate at this moment, and proceeded down the Causeway Road.  
  
"If you want to go any faster, now's the time," I told Eowyn, "But keep to the Road to do it--there's all sorts of holes and things everywhere else." She nodded, and urged her horse into a canter. I matched her pace. Neither of us lasted very long, and by mutual agreement, we slowed to a walk once more. I looked about the section of the Road we were now on, and shivered.  
  
"Is something the matter?" she inquired, a concerned look on her face.  
  
"Oh, it....it's nothing...." I made a vague wave towards my cheek. "It's just that this is about the place where we made our last stand." She nodded understandingly.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
"No....not really....I just....." I rode on a little way further before I turned to her.  
  
"You have to understand that by the time we got up here, we'd been fighting with almost no rest for two days." She nodded again, as the words began to spill from me.  
  
"We thought we were home free. I could see it in his eyes. It was the first time we'd been close together in the fight. He told me we'd charge them once more, maybe twice. Then all these orcs and Southrons came boiling up right out of nowhere, and we knew we were doomed. I saw his face change, and it made my blood run cold. To make matters worse, the Nazgul were on us as well." It was Eowyn's turn to shiver.  
  
"We sent the foot on, to try to save as many as we could. He started fighting this Haradrim captain, and when he fell, I was desperate to keep him from being trampled, so I tried to engage the man and got trounced for my pains. I wasn't good enough to beat him in a fair fight, so I grabbed his arm and let him land a blow on me, hoping he wouldn't kill me, and that I would have enough strength to finish him. That's where my ribs got broken. And I managed to do it, but I don't remember anything much after that but standing over Faramir, and slashing at anything that came my way. And I was crying the whole time, I just couldn't stop. I kept crying even after Dol Amroth rescued us, and after I stopped crying, I shook for another hour after that. So I guess I wasn't very brave about it."  
  
"I cried too," Eowyn reminisced softly. "He was so very tall, and so very horrible, I couldn't look at him." I made a soft sound of agreement .  
  
"Do you know, I think if Merry hadn't been there, I wouldn't have been able to do it? And not because he stabbed him, either. I needed Merry's voice. If he had not called to me just then, I was so terrified and dismayed, I might have let the Dwimmerlaik kill me. But he needed my help, so I struck. And I think if I had not fainted, I too would have been crying and shaking for a long time."  
  
"So are we cowards? Is it because we're women?" I noticed suddenly that we were sitting motionless in the middle of the Road, and set my horse to walking once more. Eowyn shook herself and followed suit.  
  
"I don't know. My people don't sob when they slay, they sing."  
  
"I've seen Rangers cry, but it's usually after a bad battle, not during. Although nothing we did in Ithilien was as bad as this." I turned my horse to the right, and left the road. "Since I don't have any answers, I might as well do what I've come to do. Be careful through here-watch for holes." We rode in silence for a long time after that, till I'd delivered my message and recieved a reply. It was not till we'd ridden past the spot on the way back to the City that Eowyn spoke again.  
  
"You've spent much time with the Steward this last week. Will you not speak with him after all?"  
  
"No, lady. For nothing has changed. My situation has not, nor light in his eyes when he speaks of you. Perhaps if his brother, Lord Boromir had lived and become the Steward, I might have spoken. For then he would not have been the sole hope of his house. But nothing has truly changed. What of you? How are you disposed towards him? I know that he was glad to see you when he was sworn in. It was good of you to come."  
  
"I was surprised not to see you there."  
  
"I was not invited. He commanded me to appear at the Citadel at a certain time, and by the time I did so, the deed was done."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"He said later that it was not a happy occaision for him, so he felt he didn't need his friends there. He didn't stop to think that perhaps his friends would want to be there to support him, happy occaision or not."  
  
"It was very upsetting to him. To take his father's ring, after where it had been."  
  
"I hadn't even thought of that."  
  
"In the end, he overcame his discomforture. But it was a bad moment, I think."  
  
I gave her a sidelong look. "You know, he's really only a soldier because he has to be. You need to understand that about him. We talked once, back when we thought we were all doomed, and I asked him what he'd do if we won the war. The first thing he said was, 'I'd lay my sword down as soon as I could.' The second was that he'd catch up on his reading." Eowyn laughed.  
  
"That does sound like him. I do miss our talks. He is a dear friend. And he knows so much about so many things."  
  
"I know your people value valor in battle above all other things, and I don't mean this in a bad way, but I think that if you are a person who hates war, but your country needs you to be a commander, and you become a really good one in spite of how you feel, then you're braver than the fellow who likes a good fight."  
  
"You might be right about that," she said thoughtfully. We were passing back through the Gate, and I asked her "Are you hungry? There's a tavern up on fifth that has pretty good stew. And decent beer, too."  
  
She perked up immediately. "Beer, did you say? Oh, I should love to have some beer! They won't let me have it in the Houses."  
  
"Well! No wonder you've been so wilted! By all means, let's go water the fair flower of Rohan with some beer!"   
  
So I took her to the Red Dog, and we sat at a corner table in semi-darkness, she with her hood up-- "on account of an ear-ache" I told the tavern wench, which garnered Eowyn much sympathy--and we had the pretty good stew, and the decent beer. We talked some more. And I made the mistake of trying to match Eowyn drink for drink, and as a consequence was more than a little tipsy before we were through, while she seemed relatively unaffected.  
  
"So--is this stuff mother's milk to you, or what?" I growled at her when she started giggling at my incapacity.  
  
"Pretty much," she admitted. "I was stealing drinks when I was but a little girl. All the children did."  
  
"Great." I uttered some of Mablung's favorite Rohirric curses, and her eyes widened.  
  
"I did not know you spoke my tongue!"  
  
I hiccuped. "Only the bad words. What did that mean anyway?" She told me with a straight face, though her lips were twitching, and I blanched.  
  
"Sorry. I didn't mean to be quite that vile." She laughed.  
  
"Actually, your accent is very good! But your head for beer is not! I think we'd better be going back. It's possible," and here her voice got very dry, "that I might be missed."  
  
I looked out the window, and saw that dark had fallen. "Oh no! I think you're right!" Hurriedly, I paid our bill, and we went out and mounted up. Eowyn waited until I had mounted successfully first, and I glared at her.   
  
"I'm not that bad off." She merely raised an eyebrow, and set off.  
  
As we approached the Houses of Healing, we could hear a woman calling Eowyn's name in the garden, and there was a City Guard patrolling the street.   
  
"Let me handle this." I hissed at Eowyn, and she nodded. Throwing back my cloak so he could see my insignia and livery, I hailed him.  
  
"What's going on sergeant?" He wasn't one, of course, but he looked quite pleased to be mistaken as such.  
  
"Captain, the Lady of Rohan seems to have wandered off. The Warden is frantic. If we can't find her soon, he'll have to explain to the Steward what happened." Eowyn and I looked at each other.   
  
"He hasn't said anything to the Steward yet, has he?"  
  
"No, Captain."  
  
"Well, sergeant, I'm sure she hasn't wandered far. She's pretty feeble by all accounts." That earned me a sharp poke in my broken ribs. I coughed.  
  
"I'll tell you what. I owe the Warden for his care of me when I was injured, so though my lieutenant and I are off duty, why don't we cover this street for you, so you can search a little farther out. More efficient, don't you think?"  
  
"Why thank you, Captain, that's very kind of you."  
  
"After all, we don't want to upset the Steward with this business, him so new to the job and all. Let's find her in a hurry, that's the ticket."  
  
"Yes, Captain. And thank you!" He saluted, and set off for the next street. When I was sure he was gone, I turned to Eowyn.  
  
"Your window's around the front here somewhere, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes. Facing east, remember?"  
  
"Well, which one is it?" The House was set on a high foundation, so she could not get into the window from the street on foot, but from horseback it was accessible.  
  
"This one, I think......no, not this one. There--that one." She had ridden up close to the wall of the House and peered within the windows in question. "There's the dratted needlework, and my clothes. Have you a dagger with you?" I handed mine across to her, and watched approvingly as she jimmied the latch.  
  
"One might almost think you'd done this sort of thing before." She turned to look back at me, and her teeth flashed whitely in a grin. The window swung open.  
  
"Hold his head for me." I grabbed her horse's bridle, holding him still as possible as she ever so carefully stood up on the saddle and swung her leg over the sill. Unfortunately, she lost her balance upon landing, and fell back down into the room. I heard some of the same curses I'd uttered earlier repeated back at me.  
  
"Are you all right?" I hissed.  
  
"Yes, I'm fine," she growled in a low voice. Banged my arm a little, that's all. Get out of here! And thanks for everything!"  
  
"You're welcome, lady." And I got myself out of there before I could be discovered.  
  
  
In my somewhat inebriated condition, it took a little while to deal with the two horses, but I was careful and cautious and saw to them myself. I returned the cloak and tabard to my room (I'd give the cloak back to Lorend later), and finally went to Faramir's office to leave the message. I hoped it hadn't been anything particularly urgent. And I hoped that he wasn't there. I had always been a most obedient little soldier, so I was no good at dissembling.  
  
Unfortunately, he was still there, with a mug of tea, the remains of what looked to be supper, and a pile of paperwork. I decided that brazening it out was the best course of action.  
  
"Your message has been delivered, my lord. And here is the reply." He took it from me, laid it gently upon the desk, and began rubbing his steward's ring.  
  
"And not before time. Well, you were right about one thing, Heth--you took it slow."  
  
"Ah well, you know, with the ribs and all--to tell the truth, my lord, I just needed an afternoon off!" Perhaps admitting to a lesser crime would be the way to go.  
  
"And took it, from the smell of things. How drunk are you exactly?"  
  
"A little. Slightly. All right, more than a bit, maybe." He gave me his full attention, look-through-the-front-of-your-head-and-out-the-back, grey captain's stare.  
  
"I expect this sort of thing from Lorend, or many of the other men. I don't expect it from you."  
  
"I know exactly what it is my lord expects from me." The bitterness in that statement surprised us both, and I took a deep breath and endeavored to take better control of myself.  
  
"Then I need reprimand you no further." He looked a little puzzled, and not uncompassionate. I could tell he thought this episode a reaction to the stresses of the war. And, in truth, it was.  
  
"There is, however, the matter of why you needed to take two horses to fulfill your errand." At my surprised look, he said, "Do you think I do not care for my people? When you did not return, I was worried you'd fallen or became ill, so I sent down to the stable and they gave me your time of departure, and that you'd taken two horses. Isn't there something else you'd like to tell me, Hethlin?"  
  
I sighed, and resolved to becom a better liar in the near future.  
  
"I snuck the Lady Eowyn out of the Houses of Healing for a ride. She came with me while I delivered the message, and then we went to a tavern afterwards. It was dark before I snuck her back in."  
  
He sighed, and rested his face in his hands for a moment. "What is this fascination with the act of abduction that seems to have come over the Company lately? I simply can't fathom it." Lifting his head, he said, "That was ill-done of you, Heth. The Lady is still ill, and the Warden must have been frantic."  
  
"He was in no hurry to tell you about it, that's for sure," I snorted. "But as for Eowyn being ill, she's less hurt than I was, and you had no problem with sending me out today! She practically wept, she was so happy to see someone who wasn't those old biddies at the House! By the way, you need to tell Lorend to stop staring at her so much when he delivers your messages--she doesn't like it. Or let me take them for you."  
  
"I don't see how I can trust you to deliver them."  
  
"Look, she wasn't hurt! She had a good time! It would do her good to get out more! Take her riding, my lord--if you have to go about the City, take her with you. You want her company, and she just wants out of the prison you and the Warden have put her in."  
  
"Prison! I think that's doing it up a little too strongly, Heth." He was twisting that dratted ring now--a sign I was coming to realize meant he was genuinely upset. "I don't see that it's your place to second guess the Warden in matters of his craft. If he says she's still ill, she's still ill. And she had better not have taken any harm from this escapade of yours! Or you will see that I treat you just as a man in all respects--including military discipline!"  
  
I leaned over the desk, resting on my hands. "Then you'd best brig me now, for I am certainly drunk on duty! The Warden is going to keep her in cotton wool for as long as he can, for he's terrified Eomer will spit him with a spear if his sister's health is less than perfect. But she's all right, Captain. If she were one of your men, you'd have her back on light duty already."  
  
"The Lady of Rohan is not one of my men!"  
  
"You'd get a whole lot farther with her if you treated her as such!" We glared at each other for a moment, breathing hard. I let my head drop.  
  
"Captain, think about it. She never had a mother, she never had any women raising her. She grew up around men of war, and tried to be like them from an early age. She is a warrior, not one of your court ladies." I raised it again, and looked at him pleadingly.  
  
"If you treat her like a court lady, you speak to her in a language she doesn't understand. And if you don't speak plainly to her, you offend her. She thinks we Gondorrim are all mush-mouths--except of course, for me." He snorted at that, and I sighed wearily.  
  
"But you are, of course, a great lord, and know your own business best. You hardly need me to tell you how to conduct yourself, or do your courting for you, and I have no intention of doing so--that's above and beyond the call of duty! I will say that, were I a man, I could have her betrothed to me in two weeks' time, for she is much like me, and I understand her. And I will further say that you have always been blind where women are concerned, unable to see what is clearly in front of you." I suddenly realized that I was on the verge of losing control completely, could feel tears glittering in my eyes. I could see his expression cycle through offense to concern, and knew that if I didn't want it reaching comprehension, I needed to leave. Right now. So I turned suddenly, and fled, pausing only long enough to call back, "I'll be in my rooms sleeping it off if you decide you need to arrest me, Lord!"  
  
"Heth!" I heard him call, but I was already gone.  
  
I went back to my room, threw myself upon my bed, and had a beery tear fest, till sleep started to overcome me, whereupon I pulled my boots off, dragged a blanket over myself, and started to drift off to sleep with no further ado. I was dozing finally when he came to the door, and knocked, and softly called my name. It woke me up, but I did nothing, merely lay awake in the dark with red, swollen eyes until he went away again. 


	12. The Courtship

Author's Note--Sorry it's taken so long to do this chapter. I actually wrote ahead of myself a bit, then had to come back and fill in, so you should get a couple of updates here very quickly over the next few days. More thanks to Altariel, for more Fire Sermon stuff she let me lift. I do have an original thought occaisionally. Honest, I do!  
  
  
The next morning was unpleasant on many different levels. I woke up stiff from the unaccustomed exercise of the ride, and my stomach was roiled, my head pounding, and my eyes sore and filled with gummy residue. In addition, I had the battered, weary feeling a person gets when they've been emotionally overwrought. It took a while to prepare for the day, for I was in no mood to bathe in cold water, so I poked the fire up and heated a kettle. I spent a long time over my ablutions, but eventually could no longer postpone the inevitable, and made my way down to the Steward's office.  
  
Faramir was not there, but the paperwork was, and I gratefully buried myself in it. When Lorend came in, I sent him right back out on a errand that had presented itself late last evening, and he departed grumbling. Then I got back to work. The sound of footsteps came down the hall at one point, paused for a moment, then continued on, but I paid them no heed. I did not look up at all, in fact, until sometime later, when two steaming mugs suddenly appeared on the desk, along with a plate of buttered toast.  
  
Faramir was looking down at me, with a somewhat sympathetic expression. He indicated one of the mugs. "Willowbark, for your head." The other. "Peppermint, for your stomach." The toast. "And breakfast, when you've got them under control."  
  
"Thank you, my lord," I murmured quietly. He made no move to go to his desk, but remained staring down at me.  
  
"I have the strangest feeling our conversation ended somewhat too soon last night. Is there aught you would tell me, Heth? Are you troubled in some way? We used to be able to talk about all sorts of things."  
  
I looked blearily up at him. "No, my lord, there is nothing I would wish to tell you." And that at least was the perfect truth.  
  
"I am sorry for what I said to you last night."  
  
"I did not return from my errand, and when I did, I was drunk. You had the right to speak as you did. Not to mention the fact that I imperiled the lady you love." I had no ring to twist, but I knotted my fingers together and laid my hands quietly on the desk.  
  
"'Imperiled' is perhaps too strong a word. I went by and saw her this morning, and thought she did look somewhat better. More color in her cheeks. I think you may have been right."  
  
"That's always gratifying." He looked down at me, disturbed by the tone in my voice. I did not meet his eyes.  
  
"Drink your tea before it gets cold. The willowbark first." I picked up the mug as commanded, and took a deep draught. It was very bitter, and suited my mood perfectly. Two more gulps, and I'd finished the whole cup. He raised his eyebrows.  
  
"She was most concerned that I not punish you. When did the two of you decide I was such an ogre?"  
  
I picked up the other mug, and took a sip to wash the willowbark taste out of my mouth, then started nibbling on the piece of toast.  
  
"We do not think you an ogre, my lord. She always speaks of you most highly. She thinks of you as a very dear friend, and admires your knowledge of many things."  
  
"Valar! I would that I could get her to regard me as something other than a friend! This is...frustrating." He cocked his hip onto my desk.  
  
"I can certainly see where it would be." I sipped some more tea. "I've told you what I think you need to do."  
  
"Aye, you told me any number of things last night, including a rather uncomplimentary remark about me being blind where women were concerned! What exactly did you mean by that?" I could feel his stare boring down into the top of my head. I froze for a moment, then picked up the peppermint mug and cradled it in my hands, taking small sips.  
  
"I was talking about her, what else? Your inability to see how she really is. Which isn't really your fault, now that I think of it. You were raised in a household without women, after all, and your only experience of them was the ones at court. And I'm not sure they qualify as normal women!" I actually managed to look up at him with a small smile, and if it looked a little forced, well then, he knew good and well that I had a headache.  
  
Faramir reached out, closed his hands around mine, and pressed the mug back onto the desk.   
  
"You'd best put this down before you drop it. Your hands are shaking, Heth." He reached a hand up and laid it against my forehead. "You don't feel hot--did you get a chill yesterday?"  
  
I closed my eyes, and savored the touch, unromantic as it was. "No, I think I'm just really hung over."  
  
"Well, you never used to drink more than two ales when we were out in the field. You ought to know better, Heth. And what was Eowyn doing, just sitting there keeping you company while you got soaked?"  
  
"Eowyn was matching me tankard for tankard."  
  
"That's impossible. I saw her this morning, and she was just fine." I gave him an irritated look.  
  
"That's because she's Rohirrim, and they drink beer like a fish drinks water! There's another tip for your courtship, Captain. Take her to a tavern every now and again, and give her beer. Lots and lots of beer. She'll love you for it."  
  
I watched his face as he digested this, and realized that this one small piece of information had had more effect upon him in making him reconsider the nature of his chosen lady than all my arguments and warnings. Ah well, whatever worked. At least it had thrown him off my trail.  
  
I proffered him a pile of papers, and with my other hand, swatted the thigh that lay across my desk.  
  
"Up with you now! Off my desk! You're looming like a vulture! You need to look at these first."  
  
He slid off, the expression on his face warring between offense at the familiarity, and relief that our relationship was back on its usual track. Relief won, and he cocked an eyebrow at me.  
  
"A vulture?"  
  
I hunched my shoulders, and made what I fondly imagined was a vulture face, and he laughed, took his papers to his desk, and settled in for a hard morning's work.  
  
  
After that, things were normal between us once more, though upon occaision, I would catch him giving me a very intense look out of the corner of my eye. The next two days were extremely busy ones, and there was not much time for personal conversation, which suited me just fine. Faramir had apparently decided that at least part of my problem was that I was confined to the Citadel too much, or perhaps he decided I needed a demonstration of his trust in me, so once a day, he sent me on errands outside the Citadel instead of Lorend. I was always careful to return promptly, sober, and without visiting the Lady of Rohan, much less absconding with her.  
  
The third morning after our conversation, he came in a little late, and very silent. I gave him the documents which I had sorted and deemed he needed to look at first, and he murmured a vague acknowledgement, and started leafing through them desultorily. The worry line was prominent over his brow.  
  
Lorend came in, and paused in the doorway. He looked at Faramir for a moment, and raised his eyebrows, then looked at me. He held his hand out.  
  
"All right. Give it to me."  
  
"Give you what?" I asked somewhat sourly.  
  
"Give me the bloody errand that's going to take me halfway to Ithilien, so you can talk to him about what's bothering him, without me listening in."  
  
"I do no such thing."  
  
"You certainly do. So does he. All the time. The more your personal lives get messed up, the more saddle sores poor Lorend gets on his--"  
  
"--Lorend," Faramir broke in, "Be so kind as to go down to the kitchen and have them fix some willowbark with honey in it for me. Very strong. And then, by all means, take the morning off. I'll see you again the second hour past noon."  
  
"Well, I must say, this is an improvement! I thought I saw a pattern developing there for a while that I didn't quite like, but--"  
  
"Lorend. Now." It was his Captain's voice, and Lorend moved. I had to chuckle a little.  
  
"I suppose we do abuse him a bit."  
  
Faramir sighed. "He invites it."  
  
"I notice you didn't give me honey in my willowbark the other day."  
  
"I wanted to punish you. Didn't think you'd toss it back in three gulps."  
  
"It's beer I have a problem with, remember?" He snorted and winced. "Are you getting one of your headaches?" I asked him. He'd gotten them from time to time in the field, though he had never let them slow him down, even conducting raids and ambushes while in the throes of one.  
  
"Yes, I believe so."  
  
"Would you like me to help you as Mablung used to?"  
  
"Would you? That would be lovely." So I stood up, and moved over behind him, and slid my hands under his soft black hair to the back of his neck, and began rubbing, first with my thumbs, then my whole hands. He sighed in relief.  
  
"That feels very nice. Maybe, if you do that for a little while, and Lorend gets back here fast with the tea, I can stave it off."  
  
"You're all knotted up back here. What has happened?"  
  
"Does something have to have happened?"  
  
"You usually have a reason for doing this." The muscles beneath my hands tightened somewhat.  
  
"I went to see the Lady Eowyn last night."  
  
"Oh good. I'm glad you found the time. How was she?"  
  
"Rather subdued, I thought. She said she didn't want to see me again." My hands paused in their work for a moment as I contemplated this, then began again.  
  
"Did she say why?"  
  
"She said that she did not want to hurt me, and that if we continued to see each other, it would be inevitable. I don't think," and his tone was very dry, "that it had occured to her it was already too late to avoid that." I intensified the pressure of my hands, and worked down into his shoulder muscles. He hissed as I hit a knot, and I concentrated on it for a while till it went away.  
  
"So what will you do now, my lord?"  
  
"There is nothing I can do, Heth. If a lady tells a gentleman she does not wish for his company, he is the veriest boor to continue to press his attentions upon her. Perhaps, in time, she will reconsider and send for me again. I certainly hope that she will."  
  
"I am sorry, my lord. Do you want me to speak with her?" I worked my hands back up his neck, and spread my fingers into his scalp.  
  
"And what? Do my courting for me? As you said once, that is beyond the call of duty. No, I would appreciate it if you would not mention it to her at all, please. I'm not saying you should not see her--in fact, I hope that you will continue to do so. She truly enjoys your visits. But I'm sure the two of you can find something else to talk about. Horses, perhaps."  
  
"Perhaps." A servant came in, bringing his tea (Lorend having apparently decided to flee, lest we change our minds), and I stopped so that he could drink it, which he did quickly, and all at once, despite the honey to sweeten it. I then resumed where I had left off. He made a pleasured sound, shut his eyes, and tipped his head back.  
  
"You have good hands, Heth. If I'd known that, I'd have let you do this years ago. You're gentler than Mablung. He always left little finger bruises all over my neck and shoulders."  
  
"As I recollect, I offered once, and you refused. Said it wouldn't be seemly for the men to see me with my hands on you. That they might want the same favor, and things would go downhill from there."  
  
"You're right. I remember that now. Now that I think upon it, I spent a lot of time trying to make sure no one thought of you as a woman." I was rubbing his temples now, and he sighed and relaxed back against me.  
  
"And you succeeded. With everyone. Including me." Faramir opened his eyes, tipped his head back further, and gave me a worried frown. I smiled down at him, took his head in my hands, tipped it back down, and started once more on his neck.  
  
"Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter now. Let's see if we can't get rid of this headache." In the end, between the willowbark and the massage, we did succeed in stopping it before it got any worse, and he and I were able to return to work once more. Lorend came in at the second hour after noon, and persisted in making so many absurd speculations upon the nature of Faramir's problems that finally we had no choice but to send him on an errand halfway to Ithilien.  
  
  
After Eowyn's rejection of him, Faramir buried himself even deeper in his work, though he did not seem to fall totally into despair. The increasing satisfaction he felt in doing a peacetime job, and doing it well, helped to counteract his sadness. As the time before the king's return grew shorter and shorter, our work load grew greater and greater. Eventually, Faramir decided to move his office out of his father's old one and into a sunnier room that suited him well. The work involved in making the move at such a busy time was more than repaid by the cheerful atmosphere we found ourselves in, once free of a place so redolent of Denethor's personality.  
  
He also turned the Steward's House inside out, bringing forth many of his mother's favorite things, and making a bonfire of much that had belonged to his father, including some books. I noticed that Lord Hurin looked askance at that somewhat, but I thought that on the whole it was not an unhealthy thing, if it allowed him to lay some ghosts. The one truly bad time he had was when he decided that his duty required him to visit the Tomb of the Stewards in Rath Dinen with Lord Hurin, to determine what repairs were needed. He never made it inside, came back to the Citadel, and retired for the rest of the day with a bottle of brandy.  
  
As I began to feel better, he made me his adjunct to Lord Hurin, a no-nonsense, saturnine man I quite enjoyed once I got to know him better. All of us spent as much time as possible outside in the lovely spring weather, by unspoken agreement saving the majority of the paperwork for the evenings, after the sun had set.  
  
More and more people were returning to the City, others were streaming in to witness the coronation, and still others came to offer services and goods to the visitors. I just happened to be down at the Gate one day, talking to Lord Hurin about distribution of guardsmen along the procession route, when a party flying the Swan Ship banner of Dol Amroth came up the Road. There was a small escort of Swan Knights, a small group of nobly clad riders--and a large train of wains.  
  
"What are all the wains for?" I asked Lord Hurin. "Surely they know they can acquire food and goods here! Are those gifts for the king?" Lord Hurin smiled a very dry smile.  
  
"Some of those may very well contain gifts for Aragorn," he said, "But I suspect the vast majority of them contain the Princess Lothiriel's ladies--and her wardrobe."  
  
"Surely you jest?" I asked. He just raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.  
  
The party drew rein before the Gate, and I got a good look at them. One of them was the first person I'd ever seen from Dol Amroth who looked uncomfortable on a horse. He was tall, and dashingly handsome, with a black beard and grey eyes that shone startlingly pale from a sun-bronzed face.  
  
"Prince Elchirion, Imrahil's second son," Lord Hurin murmured to me. "Commander of Dol Amroth's navy." Well, that explained the horse. He was probably more comfortable on the deck of a ship.  
  
The second man was young, pale where Elchirion was bronze, slender where he was strong, delicate of feature, dark of hair and grey of eye as were all of Imrahil's house. He did not look uncomfortable on a horse, he looked oblivious to the fact that he was even on his very placid mount, which he was riding on a loose rein while his nose was firmly glued to a book. A harp case was hung at the back of the saddle.  
  
"Prince Amrothos, the third son," Hurin explained. "He's a musician, or a scholar, or something." I looked at Hurin quizzically--he was not usually so indefinite about anything. He just shook his head.  
  
"He's a strange one."  
  
The best rider of the lot was the young woman of about my age, who sat her horse in a fetching blue dress with a divided skirt, and wore a dashing hat with a white plume. Her face was very fair indeed, her dark cloud of hair caught up at the back of her neck in a pearled net. Her hands, in gloves embroidered in silver and pearl, held her reins with easy capability.  
  
"The Princess Lothiriel, Imrahil's youngest," Lord Hurin told me, rather unnecessarily.  
  
"'Rothos," said the bearded prince, as they drew rein before the Gate, "we're here." When the book reading prince did not immediately respond, he repeated himself with the resigned exasperation of one to whom this was a normal occurence. "'Rothos, we're at the Gate. You said you wanted to look at it."  
  
"Hmmmmm?" Amrothos suddenly looked up. "Oh, we're at the Gate? Well, you might have said something, brother."  
  
Elchirion made an irritated snort. Amrothos stuck his book into a pouch at his saddlebow, and swung off of his horse with no further ado, making no effort to toss its reins to his brother or tether it in any way. Fortunately, he seemed to have some sort of understanding with the beast, which immediately cocked its hip and seemed content to stand there indefinitely, switching its tail lazily.  
  
Amrothos came forward to the Gate, intent on examining the pillars which had supported the doors, and oblivious to the perils of passing wagons. He spied Lord Hurin, and greeted him.  
  
"Ah, Lord Hurin! Good to see you! Do you know how the Gate was breached? Was it magical means, or chemical, or mechanical? If it was chemical, is there a sample about that I could study? And if mechanical, is the device still at hand?"  
  
"It was a combination of magical and mechanical means, my lord prince. The Witch-King used a giant ram called Grond, and augmented its force magically in some way. Unfortunately, the ram has already been cut to pieces and smelted, and the metal sold south. No one in the City wished to have it about."  
  
Amrothos looked dissappointed. "I should have liked to have had a look at it, but no matter. If magic was involved, my studies would have been inconclusive anyway. Magic is so....imprecise." He peered closely at first one pillar, then another. The Princess Lothiriel, sitting an increasingly impatient mount who sensed that stabling and grain were near, grew impatient herself.  
  
"'Rothos, if you want to look at the dratted Gate, then come down here by yourself tomorrow! I'm tired and I want a bath! And you're blocking traffic."  
  
Elchirion added his protests to his sister's. "Come on, 'Rothos. Stay as long as you like tomorrow. 'Thiri's ladies are tired, and need to rest."  
  
Amrothos sighed, returned to his horse, and mounted once more. No sooner had he mounted, then the book was in his hand again. Hurin turned to me.  
  
"Captain Hethlin, would you be so kind as to escort the Princes and Princess to their home?"  
  
"Of course, my lord." I bowed politely to Imrahil's children. Elchirion acknowledged me civilly, Amrothos gave me one surprisingly piercing look up and down, then returned to his book, and Lothiriel smiled, nodded, then looked at me again with a surprised look on her face. I quickly fetched my horse, mounted, and began to lead the company up the road. I heard the Princess Lothiriel whisper to Prince Elchirion "I think that Guardsman is a woman!"  
  
Amrothos, though he had not been addressed, snorted. "Of course she's a woman. Hands and throat never lie. And she's a swordswoman and an archer, a Ranger of Ithilien temporarily assigned to the City Guard. She's been on the wounded list recently too."  
  
"You're just making all that stuff up, 'Rothos!"  
  
"Am not, 'Thiri. Ask her." I heard the Princess' horse draw even with mine. "Captain, did you hear--"  
  
"I did, my lady."  
  
"And is he right?"  
  
"Aye, my lady. About everything."  
  
"All right, 'Rothos, how did you know?"  
  
"You see everything I do, 'Thiri, you just don't observe or deduce. Swordswoman is obvious--she's carrying a sword. Archer is a little more subtle--her tabard has wear marks from a quiver strap. Her tabard is City Guard, but she's wearing an Ithilien Ranger cloak. If she were permanently assigned to the Guard, that wouldn't be permitted--she'd be out of uniform. So it's a temporary thing. The wounded list is easy--I watched how she got on her horse. It's all plain enough, if you know what you're looking at."  
  
I was impressed. Prince Amrothos might be strange, as Lord Hurin had said, but when he gave his attention to something, he didn't miss much.  
  
"So, if you're a Ranger, do you know our cousin Faramir?" The princess inquired.  
  
"Indeed, my lady, I am one of his aides. And as soon as I've escorted you home, I will go and tell him of your arrival. I'm sure he'll be very glad to see you all."  
  
"Is he well now? We had heard he was sorely hurt." She seemed quite genuinely concerned.  
  
"He's almost completely healed. He's very busy, preparing for the King's return, but I think he's enjoying the work."  
  
"That's good. He's such a dear man. And maybe now that the war is over, we can finally get him to do his domestic duty! When I think of all the ladies who'll be chasing him....we must find someone nice!" I refrained from describing to her his own less than successful efforts in that direction.  
  
"Gods, 'Thiri's in a matchmaking mood," groaned Amrothos. Elchirion looked thoughtful.  
  
"I think the kindest thing I could do for poor cousin Faramir at this point is to invite him along on a long sea voyage for several months! To Rhun, perhaps, or those far southern islands."  
  
Lothiriel pouted at her brothers, and I had to laugh. They were all so obviously loving and funny, I could see why Faramir spoke of his visits to Dol Amroth with fondness. I escorted them to the courtyard of their home, and left to tell Faramir of their arrival. He laughed out loud, and immediately arranged for them to sup with him that night. I'm sure it was a merry meeting.  
  
  
Though I have not spoken of it till now, I did visit the Lady Eowyn on occasion during this time, when my schedule permitted it. I would bring her books in Rohirric that Faramir had sent, but I took no messages from him, nor did I speak of him to her, as he had requested. Her brother had sent for her, requesting that she join him at Cormallen, where the army was resting till the wounded were ready to return home, but she refused to go. Merry, however, went out with a supply train, so that he could see his friend Pippin, leaving her even more alone than before.  
  
As the days went by, she became quieter and quieter, and paler and paler. She wouldn't go riding with me, she merely wandered from the House to the Gardens and back again. I don't know how much she was eating, or if she ate at all. I tried to feel sorry for her, but since her isolation was of her own choosing, what I mostly felt was an increasing sense of annoyance and dissappointment, though I tried to be patient and understanding.  
  
About a week before the King's return, my patience ran out. I came at lunch with some more books for Eowyn, to find her seated at her window, staring eastward, dressed in her habitual white, looking pensive and pale and mournful. My temper snapped, with what should have been an almost audible ping. Faramir would have been most wroth with me had he seen, for I raised the books above my head and let them fall to the floor with a loud bang. Eowyn jumped a foot off her chair and turned to look at me, her eyes wide and startled.  
  
"Have you woven your shroud yet, lady? Chosen your flowers? Lilies, perhaps? You look like a lily girl to me."  
  
"Hethlin! I didn't see you come in."  
  
"You don't see me even after I come in. You've been moping for days. It's not too late to go join your brother, you know. He would probably enjoy having you ride back here with him. He must be worried sick."  
  
"I cannot go to Cormallen." Her head drooped once more.  
  
"Why? Because of Aragorn? He's exactly why you should go. Put a nice dress on, pinch some color into your cheeks, and let him see an army of men fall all over themselves for your favor. It'd do him good. It'd do you good."  
  
"I cannot." She sighed, and I took a firm hold of my temper once more.  
  
"Then go back to Edoras, and take things in hand until your brother gets there, if you're sick of the City! Lord Faramir will see that you have an escort. If you like, I'll go with you myself, get to see those horse herds of yours."  
  
"You would miss the crowning, if you did that."  
  
"So what! I've missed every other notable battle and event of the Age! It would be worth it, to see you feeling more yourself. But this business....it's silly. It's stupid. It's....girlish." She looked vaguely offended, and I grew hopeful. At least it was an emotion besides despair. I decided to take this theme further, since it seemed a partial success.  
  
"This is not the behavior of a warrior! This is something straight out of those silly romances the court women are so fond of reading. The ones where the heroine, rejected by the man she loves, falls into a decline and dies prettily, managing a sweet deathbed scene with him before she perishes that causes him to feel guilt for the rest of his days." I threw my hand against my head and staggered against the door jamb. "Alas! Poor Eowyn! Would that I had appreciated her finer qualities while she was still alive! But now it's too late! And I must live without her! How can I? Alas! Alack! Woe is me!" Was that ire in the blue eyes? Genuine anger?  
  
"So I ask you again, Lady--is your shroud ready? Your flowers chosen? What about a dress?--although that one you have on would serve in a pinch--nice and ghostly. Are you sure you've got your timing right? It wouldn't do to die before Aragorn gets here, after all--not anywhere near as effective. You really need to have that deathbed scene, you know. On the other hand, lingering too long is almost as bad. He might succeed in dragging you back to life again, and then where would you be?"  
  
"Hethlin....." her voice was low, held a hint of a warning growl in it, and she was on her feet, nostrils flared and breathing hard.  
  
"What--are you offended by the truth? It's what you're doing, isn't it? What are you going to do, swing a sword at me? You couldn't sling a pillow in the state you're in!  
You make me sick sometimes, you know? Here you are, beautiful and brave, a princess with a brother who loves you, the best man in Gondor adoring you, his people who worship you for the heroic thing you've done, and your own people who all love you, and you're sitting here pining away because a man you decided you loved, as far as I can tell, in five minutes, does not return your affections. Poor Eowyn!"  
  
I'd always thought she would move fast when she was well. She moved pretty quickly even as a convalescent, and she was stronger than I thought. My good cheek reddened and my ear burned from the force of her slap. She was practically in my face, her chest heaving.  
  
I reached up slowly, and touched my cheek. When I spoke, my voice was quiet.  
  
"Eowyn, death is easy. You've not had much luck so far, but you'll find it soon enough if you keep looking, never fear. But you must take your life back for yourself--no one is going to do that for you. You have a lot more to work with than I had! Let duty and love push you along for a little while. Your brother would be heartbroken if something happened to you, and there is much good work you could do among your people. That would be enough to start with, if you choose. Then perhaps one day, you may find someone who will return your love. We are allowed to do that more than once, you know. Love, that is."  
  
I took two steps back and bowed. She simply stared at me, though I thought I saw a hint of pain in her eyes.  
  
"I apologize, my lady, for my unspeakable rudeness. I will not trouble your peace again."   
  
And I departed, and told Faramir only that I'd delivered the books, making sure he did not see my face until the redness faded. The next day, when the Warden came with the news that the Lady Eowyn sickened, and he hastened to her, I felt a stab of guilt and fear that I'd perhaps harmed her in some way.  
  
But when he came back a couple of hours later, glowing with joy and eager to tell Lorend and I the news of his betrothal, I realized she'd taken my words to heart after all, if not quite in the way I'd intended. And when, with an act of will not far short of what it had taken to face the Witch-King, I greeted this news with a calm smile and a congratulatory hug, he told me that she'd sent a message for me.  
  
"She said to tell you that she's sorry twice over," he said into my ear. "Now whatever does she mean by that?"  
  
And I gave him a squeeze, and a kiss on the cheek, for such was allowed at such a time, even to me.  
  
"It's a woman thing," I answered, "So of course you wouldn't understand." 


	13. The Elflord

Author's Note--This chapter just sort of happened. It was random. It was unexpected. It was unpredictable. It's all Elrohir's fault! (There you go, Deborah!)  
  
The night before the King was to be crowned and enter the City, Minas Tirith was ablaze with light, and the sound of people in the streets already beginning their celebration. Music and singing echoed about the stone streets. We humble civil servants in the Steward's Tower had worked frantically all day, finalizing the tiniest details of the ceremonies to be held on the morrow. Faramir had had supper sent into us, and true night had fallen before we finished up. He stamped his ring onto one last document, then shook his hand out in an exagerrated fashion, blowing on it with a grin. Needless to say, his disposition had much improved since Eowyn had agreed to become his wife.  
  
"I need to ride down the Pelennor, and talk to the King about the ceremony tomorrow," he said, slipping a large sheaf of documents into a pair of saddlebags. "What are the two of you going to do?"  
  
Lorend and I looked back at him, and grinned. We were both clad in Ranger brown and green, and had our packs and bedrolls close to hand.  
  
"Party!" we chorused as one. He smiled reminiscently, rang the bell, and when the servant came, gave some orders we couldn't hear.  
  
"Well don't go empty handed! Look, Lorend's not going to want to walk all that way down, so why don't the two of you double on a horse down there, and I'll bring it back with mine?"  
  
"Aren't you going to come and visit the men, my lord?," Lorend asked.  
  
"I'll try, if the King doesn't keep me too late. I very much wish to see everyone again. Are you two going to spend the night down there?"  
  
"Aye, my lord," I said, "And march with the Rangers in the morning."  
  
"You know, my lord," said Lorend boldly, "if you find yourself out of a job tomorrow, you could come back to us again."  
  
He chuckled. "It could very well come to that! I wonder how Eomer would feel about his sister being wedded to a common Ranger."  
  
"Never a common Ranger, sir!" I protested, and he gave me a smile. The three of us left the office, and headed for the courier stables.  
  
There, as we were saddling the horses, a servant came bearing four bottles of wine, and a very old bottle of brandy. Faramir indicated that we should take them.  
  
"The wine is for your contribution to the party. The brandy's for Damrod, if I don't get down there tonight. I owe him a bottle."  
  
I remembered the bottle he referred to--it had been fairly ghastly stuff, and he'd downed it to escape the pain of a spear wound. I looked at the old and cobwebby bottle he'd given me.  
  
"I think this is a little more than an even trade, sir."  
  
He grinned. "Consider it with interest added," he said, and swung up onto his horse. Lorend placed the wine bottles carefully into a pair of saddlebags, mounted, and slung them across his lap. Then he offered me the near side stirrup, and a hand, and I swung up behind him, holding our packs and the brandy bottle. Our horse was not enthralled with this arrangement, but we made him move out anyway. The moon was rising as we rode forth, and Faramir was whistling as he went.  
  
  
We rode with Faramir as far as the Royal Encampment, which was on the edge of the greater encampment closest to the City. There, Lorend and I slid off of the horse, and transferred the wine bottles to our packs, then slung the packs on our backs. Faramir threw the two sets of reins to an esquire in the livery of the City, and bade us farwell.  
  
"Unless, of course, you'd like to plead your cause to the King, Heth?" he inquired teasingly.  
  
"I think if I troubled the King with such a small matter the night before his crowning, I'd only guarantee he'd never appoint me Captain," I snorted. After weeks as a bureaucratic assistant, I had a far better idea now of what was truly important, and what could await a great man's less busy moments.  
  
"There is that!" he conceeded. "Please give my thanks and regards to the men. I'll come later, if it is at all possible. If not, then perhaps we can all meet a couple of days hence, when things have settled down somewhat." We gave him a good night, then set off on foot, under the moon.  
  
The night was clear, and cool, and the air about us heavy with the scent of campfires and cooking, as we moved through the rows of tents. Off to one side of the Royal encampment, I could see a campfire around which clustered a number of men in grey cloaks, with star brooches on their shoulders. I paused for a moment, and one of them looked up quickly from the fire, probably marking the movement of my pale hair under the moon.  
  
"What's the matter?" asked Lorend.  
  
"Those men over there, they're Rangers from the North--you know, the Grey Company. I just wondered if any of them knew my father."  
  
"Why don't we go over and ask?" I shook my head.  
  
"Because I'm not sure I want to know why he left the North. At least not tonight. Let's just keep it happy for now. I can always try to find one later, before they return home."  
  
"Whatever you say, Captain." We stopped a couple of times in our progress to ask directions, and ended up going downhill quite a ways towards the river. Eventually we came to a campsite where brown and green clad men moved to and fro. I hung back, rather inexplicably shy for a moment, but Lorend slid my wine bottles out of my pack before I could stop him and strode forward into the middle of the camp with one in each hand, bellowing, "I am here! The party can begin now! Did any one think to bring any girls down here?" He was immediately surrounded by an exclaiming, jesting, back-slapping throng.  
  
I watched for a moment with a rather silly grin on my face, then jumped as someone bellowed behind me.  
  
"HETH!" I turned to see Mablung returning with a couple of Rangers pulling a small wheeled cart upon which rested a rather large keg. I was immediately engulfed in a firm but careful hug.  
  
"How're the ribs, lass? And the shoulder?"  
  
"Much better now, Mablung. How is your arm?"  
  
"Doesn't bother me a--wait a moment, how did you know about my arm?" He held me out at arms' length.  
  
"The Eagle that Mithrandir sent to the City talked to me, and I asked how some people were--Prince Imrahil, and King Eomer, and you, and the halfling Pippin. And he said that you'd been shot in the arm near the end of the battle, and that you were annoyed that you couldn't shoot any more." I dashed some rather unexpected and annoying tears from my eyes. "He also said your language got much more interesting after that."  
  
"Right talkative for a bird, wasn't he?" He gave me a sidelong look. "You been talking to any other animals since your hair turned that funny color, Heth? Horses, perhaps?"  
  
I laughed, and shook my head. "No, Mablung. And I'm not crazy, either. Fifty people must have seen me do it. Apparently, that's what my family does--they're friends with the great Eagles."  
  
"Well, we live in strange times, there's no mistaking that! So I guess a girl who talks to Eagles isn't any stranger than some of the things that have happened!" He draped an arm about my shoulders, and led me into the ring of firelight. My fellow Rangers surrounded me with exclamations of delight, as they had Lorend, though Mablung was quick to warn them of my ribs. The two of us were given seats of honor at the campfire, mugs of ale were pressed into our hands, and we were encouraged to help ourselves to the choicest gobbets from the pig roasting upon the fire. I speared a piece of meat onto my dagger point, drank a great draught of ale and huddled down into my cloak, staring up at the moon with a happy grin. I was home.  
  
  
As the evening wore on, and the keg emptied, many tales of valor floated about the campfire. Lorend, who'd been taken out of the action even earlier than I, contributed a tale of his valor in evading the family of tailors whose two daughters he'd been seeing simultaneously but at different times. Several other tales of romantic exploits followed, but they were interspersed with accounts of the ambush the Rangers had thwarted on the way to the Black Gate, and the battle there itself. I found out that evening that little Pippin had actually slain the great troll that had fallen upon him, thereby saving Beregond of the Tower Guard. Once again, I marveled at the tenacity and courage of the Halflings.  
  
Several of the Rangers wanted me to tell the tale of how I'd stood over Faramir on the Pelennor Field, but I refused to recount it. I had spoken of it to Eowyn, but that was because she shared a unique perspective with me that no man could. And I really had no talent for the telling. Still, they were persistant, reminding me that I'd promised to tell them when I'd returned from the Pelennor, and events had fallen out that had prevented it.  
  
"Actually, Mablung promised you," I said, beginning to feel a bit nettled. "If you want to hear it so badly, let him tell you." Mablung was sputtering protests, when a dulcet voice interjected itself into the argument.  
  
"I know the tale in full, and will tell it, in return for some of that very good wine I see being passed about here." Heads swiveled as two figures stepped into the firelight. One was Faramir, who was immediately engulfed with a roar by his ecstatic men. The other was Elhrohir son of Elrond, who stood limned in the moonlight and firelight in sable and silver perfection, a bow at his back and a cup in his hand, which he was proferring forth to the Rangers with a pleading look.  
  
"A drink, please?" he asked plaintively. I hunkered down deeper into my cloak, refusing to acknowledge him, but Mablung, the traitor, seeing a chance to wiggle off the hook, jumped up and appropriated one of the bottles from another Ranger, and filled his goblet, despite a warning glare from me.   
  
"There you are, my lord!" he said heartily, careful not to look at me. Elrohir accepted with a gracious nod of thanks, and a grinning glance in my direction that said he knew exactly how embarassed I already was and was anticipating being in the near future. After a moment, Mablung sidled hesitantly over to me.  
  
"You do have to sleep sometime tonight, you know that, don't you?" I hissed at him. He tried to appease me.  
  
"Come on Heth, I want to hear how he tells it. They say Elves are the very best at these things. You should be pleased, having your story told by an Elf."  
  
"I don't want my story told at all! I didn't exactly cover myself with glory. I cried the whole time, for Valar's sake," I whispered at him indignantly. "And where does he get off saying he knows all about it--he was nowhere near at the time!"  
  
"Maybe his Lordship told him?"  
  
"His Lordship was unconscious for most of it! What does he know?"  
  
Elrohir moved towards the campfire, sipping his wine thoughtfully, and waiting for the hubbub over Faramir's return to die down. Eventually, the human wave of Rangers subsided, leaving Faramir washed up on the other side of the campfire, slightly tousled, but smiling, and with a tankard in his hand. People refreshed their drinks and resumed their seats, waiting expectantly, yet Elrohir did nothing for many long moments even after full silence fell. He simply stood there, as if oblivious to the fact that every eye was upon him, stroking the rim of his goblet pensively with a slender finger.  
  
Finally, one of the bolder souls called out "The story, Lord Elrohir! Or must we fuel you with more wine?" He started as if just coming to himself, and smiled.  
  
"Perhaps, in a bit, but this will suffice for now. I apologize, I was merely collecting my thoughts. Well, here now begins the tale of Hethlin Blackbow and the Champion of Harad!"  
  
And there was a roar of approval, and he began the story. I will say he had all his facts straight, but the tale he told had little in common with the reality I had experienced. The crying was not mentioned, and I came off as far cleverer and braver in his tale than I felt I'd been in real life--it was almost as if he were speaking of someone else, which was about the only thing that made the experience bearable. As it was, I was absolutely crimson by the time he was finished, and if I could have dug a hole beneath me and buried myself on the spot, I would have.  
  
After an eternity, his tale ended with much applause, and a toast to me. I covered my face with my hands, and just sat there, shaking my head. More wine was proferred, and another tale requested, his first offering being so well recieved. He appeared to consider for several long moments before he acquiesced.  
  
"I know another tale of Hethlin, that none of you here know, save perhaps the Steward. Are you not curious how she came by those snowy locks? I know the truth of it, if anyone would hear the tale." There was some interested murmuring, but the blood in my veins immediately turned to ice, and my stomach gave a sickening lurch. Faramir's head snapped up. He looked over at me in concern, and his grey eyes frosted.  
  
"I think, my lord Elrohir, that that is not a tale for a happy time."  
  
Elrohir bowed, a slightly ironic acknowledgement. "As you wish, my lord Steward--I have others." And he launched into a retelling of a somewhat comic encounter that had befallen the Grey Company on their ride south, which had the men laughing uproariously in no time, and gave me a chance to collect myself. Mablung pressed a tankard of beer upon me, and I drank it down gratefully, and rather too quickly.  
  
Eventually, Elrohir finished his tale, to much applause. He shoved his cup into his belt, forestalled demands for more stories with an upraised hand, and strolled over to where I sat, his eyes gleaming mischief.  
  
"I fear I must return to the royal encampment," he announced to the crowd at large. "Lady Snowsteel, will you walk with me a while?" A chorus of whistles and calls broke out, only a little subdued when Faramir shot a warning look around the campfire. Elrohir extended a hand to me, and when I took it, pulled me to my feet, and it to his lips, in one smooth motion. He was far, far stronger than he looked, but his lips were soft and warm. More whistles ensued, he slid an arm about my waist with easy familiarity, and we strolled out of the camp. I caught a glimpse of Faramir, his eyebrows almost to his hairline in surprise.  
  
"What do you think you are doing?" I hissed at Elrohir after we'd passed into the next row of tents.  
  
"Making mischief, what else?" he responded easily. "It is a tendency I fear near three thousand years of existence have yet to cure me of. Besides, I find such stubborn obtuseness as the Steward of Gondor demonstrates....annoying. Foolish man--to forego mithril for mere gold." I blushed yet again, though it was a wonder my cheeks still could, with the exercise they'd had that evening. Yet somehow I knew, despite his words and actions, that he was not in love with me, or anywhere near, though I did not know exactly how I was so sure of this.  
  
*T'was not bodies we touched with, there in the Grey Lands, Snowsteel,* came his voice inside my head. I jumped. *Such closeness of souls can have a lasting effect. It is no wonder that you can sense somewhat of me, while we are touching thusly.*  
  
"Do you often speak so to people?" I asked aloud. "And can I speak like that to you?"  
  
*Among our folk, we do so on occaision, when all present have the skill. It saves time and misunderstanding. To mortals, as a rule, no. It is only because of our..... connection that I am able to bespeak you. As to whether you could bespeak me--I do not know. I think you would need to be physically touching me. And at such a range, your sweet lips would serve just as well.*  
  
"I wish you wouldn't do that. Refer to me like I'm some beautiful damsel."  
  
He chuckled, and tightened his arm about my waist. "But you forget, Snowsteel, that we of the Elder Kindred see into two worlds at once, both body and soul. And you have a very beautiful soul."  
  
We had passed through the tents, and were going downhill towards the Rammas and the River. I pulled him to a halt.  
  
"I thought you said you were going to the royal encampment."  
  
"I am. Eventually. Time has little meaning to an elf, remember." He grinned at me. "I thought to spend some time with you first, to see how you fared. And I have a couple of gifts for you."  
  
"Gifts? You gave me my life back. Why need you give me anything else?" He released my waist, and turned to face me, taking my hands in his. I realized we were some distance away from the last line of tents, alone in the moonlight with the wind on the grass.  
  
"Call it an impulse, a whim if you like. You intrigue and interest me, and at my age that doesn't often happen. But I will help you if I can." He removed his bow, and drew me down beside him to sit upon the grass.  
  
"Help me? Help me with what?"  
  
"My father is a healer of both minds and bodies. I know more of the latter than the former, by virtue of my profession as a warrior. But I do have some knowledge of the healing of minds, and I know that you are fearful of...intimacy, because of your experiences with the orcs. There is no shame in this, Snowsteel. My own mother had much the same happen to her, and she took ship at the Havens, and left Middle-Earth. Elves feel such violations very profoundly, and often never recover. I'm not saying Men do not, I'm merely saying that they are more resilient."  
  
"I should hate to see you live your life alone because of this. I am not my father, and we do not have the time it would take to effect a complete cure. But I can do this much--lessen your fear to the point that you may be able to overcome this yourself, with patience and time, and the right partner."   
  
"What would you have to do to do this, my lord?" I didn't exactly slide away from him, but I was leaning away somewhat, and he chuckled.  
  
"If you mean, would I have to take you right here and now in the grass, Snowsteel, the answer is no."  
  
"Oh." I looked at him, and blushed, more than a little embarrassed, but his eyes were kind for once, with no mockery in them.  
  
"You would sleep for a little, no more than that. And I won't do anything without your consent."  
  
"Do you think I should do this?"  
  
"Yes. If I felt that you would be able to overcome this trauma without my help, I would not have offered." He smiled dryly. "We elves seldom offer advice or aid, unless hard pressed, or in direst necessity."  
  
"I know the sayings." I looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "All right. What must I do?"  
  
"Absolutely nothing." And he lifted his hand, and touched two fingers to my forehead, and all went dark.  
  
  
Something was tickling my nose. I twitched it, trying to get rid of the irritation, but it persisted. Finally, I reached up and batted at it, and heard a melodious chuckle. I opened my eyes, and found myself staring up into the night sky. The moon was high overhead. I turned my head to the right and saw Elrohir lying beside me, propped on one elbow, and twirling a grass stem in his hand.  
  
"I was beginning to think you misliked my company, Snowsteel, so eager were you to sleep!"  
  
"I've been working hard these last few days. There's been a lot to do to get ready for the King's crowning." I rubbed my face, and looked down at myself surreptitiously, but Elrohir noticed, and grinned.  
  
"No, Snowsteel, I haven't ravished you while you were at your well-earned rest."   
  
"I'm sorry, my lord Elrohir. I have no reason to think you are not a ...person of your word."  
  
"It's quite all right. A not unexpected development, when one is an acknowledged creature of impulse." He tapped my nose with the grass-stem once more. I pushed myself up on my elbows.  
  
"Did it work?"  
  
"It was more...tiring than I had expected. The trauma was more extensive than I'd originally thought. Did it work? Let's find out." Before I realized what he was up to, he'd rolled towards me, slid an arm behind my shoulders, laid me back, and pressed his lips to mine.  
  
My first reaction was panic, and I shoved against his shoulders. But he was stronger than I, and after a couple of bad moments, I realized that I wasn't hearing orcish voices, or remembering orcish hands upon me, that all I was feeling was Elrohir, and he actually felt rather nice. His lips were soft, and gently insistent, his hair fell around me like shimmering black water, and it was hard to tell where his eyes ended and the starry night sky began. Even the warm weight of his chest against mine did not frighten me, when to be constrained in such a way before would have sent me into a screaming fit.  
  
The kiss went on and on, and after a time I began to relax, and then to enjoy it. My hand slid up into Elrohir's hair, which was softer than Faramir's. It was softer than anything I'd ever felt. People usually use silk as a comparison, but I'd never felt silk, so I didn't know if that was soft enough. The only things I could think of to compare it to were a warm breeze on your face, or cool water on bow-burned fingers.  
  
Just as I was beginning to enjoy myself, he broke off, and rolled over onto his back.  
  
"I think I'd count that as a success, yes," he declared.   
  
I was filled with so many emotions at once that I did not know how to react. Chagrin, embarassment, relief, dissappointment, annoyance--I finally decided civility was my best defence.  
  
"I thank you, Lord Elrohir, for all your care on my behalf." He turned his head, and lifted a delicately arched brow.  
  
"It is care indeed, Snowsteel, whether you see it so or not. T'would not be a kindness to either of us to take it further."  
  
"I don't understand you. First the story, and now this. You are truly the most contrary person!" He smiled.  
  
"Why, thank you!" Then he assumed a hurt expression. "What was wrong with the story? Did you not like it? I assure you, it was told in accordance with the greatest traditions of Elven storytelling."  
  
I sat up. "But it wasn't like that at all! You made it seem like I was this great hero!"  
  
He laughed, and sat up as well. "Snowsteel, why is it that you think, just because a story is about you, that it is any more inaccurate than any other story about anybody else? Why should you assume that they were perfect heroes, when you know you were not?"  
  
I thought about that for a long moment. "You mean, they were like me? Scared to death most of the time?"  
  
"What is the definition of courage, if not the ability to persevere in the face of mind-numbing fear?"  
  
"Oh. OH." He nodded, pleased with my comprehension. "Now you see it." Indeed I did. What he was telling me was that all heroes were courageous, so that by definition, all heroes were scared; so the fact that I'd been scared did not mean I wasn't a hero too. I decided to think upon this some more at a later date.  
  
"While we're on the subject of stories," I asked him, "What did you do to the Eagle?"  
  
"What Eagle?"  
  
"The Windlord that brought the news to Minas Tirith. He didn't seem to like you much."  
  
"Gwaihir? Oh, that wasn't me. That was Elladan." I looked at him skeptically, and he suddenly got defensive. "Valar, why is it everyone always assumes I am the one to blame?"  
  
"So what did Elladan do to the Eagle? Gwaihir, did you say his name was?" Elrohir sighed.  
  
"I should like nothing better than to tell you that tale as well, Snowsteel, so that you might better appreciate the perfidiousness of the world's quiet people, but I may not."  
  
"Why ever not?"  
  
"Because it is a tale my brother wishes very much not to be told, and if I tell it to you, then he will tell you four or five tales I very much wish not to be told."  
  
"Hmmmmmm." I looked at him severely. "Four or five tales to one? Does this not suggest to you, my lord, why people look to you first when evidence of mischief rears its head? And did you not admit to me earlier that you indulged in such things?"  
  
He smiled, grasped the bow, and got to his feet, offering me a hand. "I can see that it is past time for me to return to the bosom of my blackmailing family." I let him pull me to my feet once more, but this time, that was all he did.  
  
"I do thank you, truly, for all your help, Lord Elrohir," I said sincerely. He nodded.  
  
"And now I'm going to thank you for the help you gave me, Snowsteel."  
  
I was puzzled. "I've never done anything for you, my lord."  
  
"In the Grey Lands. When I came after you, and you helped me back to my brother. He was right--I'd gone too far, and overextended myself. Needless to say, this is yet another tale I do not wish told."  
  
"But you would not have been in any danger had you not been trying to save my life! I know you gave me strength, I felt it! There is no debt between us, my lord."  
  
"I am the older of us by far, Dunedan, and I am a son of Elrond. If I say you saved an old fool from his folly that day, then it is your duty to accept that it is so, and accept this as well." He handed the bow to me. "It's even black." It was, some smooth, satiny dark wood, and inlaid with graceful silver scrolling. I ran my hand along the limbs reverently, and examined the string. "I think you will be strong enough to draw it when you are well again, though it may take you time to accustom yourself."  
  
"But this is yours, is it not, my lord? What will you use to shoot with?"  
  
"Oh, there is the odd spare bow among the Grey Company. After Estel is crowned, Elladan and I will be returning to Lorien, and then to Rivendell. I shall get me another in Lorien, I think. Grandmother will provide. So you see, it is but a small matter for me--but I thought you would like it."  
  
"Oh! Like is not the word, my lord! I love it!"  
  
"Well, if you must love something, Snowsteel, a bow is safer than a Man! And far, far safer than an Elf!" He gave me one of his reckless smiles, and I bowed respectfully.  
  
"If you come North, Snowsteel, perhaps we shall ride together one day. I would enjoy showing you the North. And if we don't take Elladan, we can even visit the Eagles!"  
  
He departed, almost magically it seemed. Things seemed a little drearier after he had gone. I started the hike back up hill to the Ranger camp.  
  
Elrohir's cure had apparently taken considerable time, for when I got back, most of the Rangers had sought their bedrolls. Only Mablung was still seated by the fire.  
  
"You all right, Heth? What's that you have there?"  
  
"Lord Elrohir gave me his bow." I sat down beside him, and gave it to him. He turned it over and over, smoothing his hands over it, and finally gave a low whistle.  
  
"This is a sweet bow, and no mistake." He gave me a worried look. "He didn't make you sleep with him for it, did he? I don't care if he's the king's foster brother, or a son of Elrond, or a son of the Valar himself--if he made you do something you didn't want to do, Heth, I'll deal with him."  
  
"I can take care of myself, Mablung, thank you very much! No, he didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do." I didn't know whether to be touched or annoyed at his overprotectiveness.  
  
"You've got grass stuck all over the back of your head, Heth."  
  
"We were just lying out in the grass, looking at the moon, and talking. That's all."  
  
"Hmmmmm, whatever you say." He looked at the bow again. "Come to think of it, I wouldn't blame you if you did sleep with him for it. I might've slept with him for it."  
  
I was not entirely sure what was involved when two men slept with each other, but thinking of Mablung and Elrohir in any sort of juxtaposition made me laugh.  
  
"Go to bed, Mablung! That's where I'm going, if you show me where you stowed my stuff." He got to his feet, and showed me over to a small tent.  
  
"We were using this for supplies, but I cleaned it out for you."  
  
"Thanks, Mablung."  
  
"The Captain told us about his betrothal this evening, Heth. Apparently the brother gave his permission tonight. You all right about that?"  
  
"I'm all right! Get some sleep! We're up early this morning!"  
  
"Good night, Heth."  
  
"Good morning, Mablung."  
  
And I went into my tent, and rolled into my bedroll, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep with no further trouble. I was strangely refreshed for the little rest I'd had when we assembled the next morning, and the black Elvish bow was slung on my shoulder when we surrounded the Gate and watched as Aragorn took his crown. The Rangers did not have a good vantage point, and all I saw of the King was the back of his head, but at least I could say that this was one pivotal event of the Age I'd actually been awake for! We learned that Faramir was indeed, going to keep his job, and I bade my friends good-bye so that I might report for mine, for I'd promised Lord Hurin I'd do a watch in the City once the crowning was over. I told them I'd return in the evening and then I set off to work under the shadow of a Citadel where flew the banner of the Tree and Stars for the first time in a thousand years. Everyone in the City was joyful and singing, for it seemed that the future held all sorts of glorious prospects, and I could not help but wonder what it held for me. 


	14. The Ranger

Author's Note--This chapter has actually been written for a while, which is why I'm posting it so soon after the other. I knew what was happening here, so I said what the heck and went ahead and wrote it. But then it took a long while to backfill in what happened previously. I will add that doing it that way was very frustrating for me and my family ("Why don't you post the done chapter, Mom? Why on earth are you writing another?"), and I will avoid doing so ever again, if I can help it! There are some people out there who have been waiting very patiently for this chapter. I won't say who they are, except to say that--this one's for Dwimordene!   
  
The night of the day the King was crowned, the streets of Minas Tirith ran with wine and merriment, and the party continued for the next five days and nights with no signs of stopping. During that time, the King held court each day, welcoming embassages, and trying to deal with the vast amount of business that lay before the Crown. The huge influx of people for the ceremonies, including the large number of soldiers with back pay in their pockets, and a burning desire to celebrate their unexpected survival, made a deal of work for the City Guard. I took a shift during the day, as I had promised Lord Hurin I would, and I would spend the evenings with my Ranger friends, though I never stayed out late. I never saw Faramir during that time--he and the Lady Eowyn celebrated with the mighty by virtue of their exalted rank. But I knew that in two days time, the King would hold a court at which he intended to honor those of the armies who had distinguished themselves, and that Faramir would be present at that court that he might oversee the distribution of those honors to his Rangers.  
  
The third evening, as I was going off watch, Lord Hurin came up to me in the street and asked if I would stay on until midnight, as one of the Guardsmen had been knocked unconscious trying to suppress a drunken brawl. I agreed to do so, and accepted his fervent thanks, and made my way to the post I was to cover, which was in the tavern district. To say that it was lively would have been an understatement, and by the time my extra watch was over, I'd taken a smash by a bottle on my bad shoulder and was tired, hungry, in pain and out of sorts. Before I trudged my way back up to the Citadel, which was ablaze with lights and music, I stopped by the Red Dog and purchased several hot meat pies, a jug of cider and a piece of cheese. They did the food up in a napkin for me, for they knew I would return it, and gave me a substantial Guardsman's discount, for I'd removed a troublesome drunk just the day before. So I was in a somewhat better mood as I started back to my quarters.  
  
As I was passing the Houses of Healing, I noticed the dark peacefulness of their gardens, and it occured to me that I had been overmuch stimulated of late, and that some quiet and solitude would go well with my dinner. So I let myself into the gate, and made my way to the darkest and quietest corner, where the benches were beneath the branches of the trees. But someone else had had the same idea, or the same craving--a large man was seated upon one of the benches, leaning back against the tree behind it, wrapped in a cloak. The glow of a pipe illuminated his face but dimly, and there was a scent of pipeweed on the air.  
  
"I beg your pardon," I said, turning to leave. "I did not know anyone was here."  
  
"There are benches aplenty, Guardsman," the man said quietly. "By all means sit. I am not adverse to the company of one--I simply came here to escape the crowd for a time."  
  
"As did I," I admitted, seating myself on the bench nearest him. My night vision had not completely adjusted to the dimness of the garden yet--I could barely discern a pale face with chiseled features, and dark hair. I set the jug of cider beside me on the bench and spread the napkin open. The savory scent of the meat pies wafted into the air, and I thought I heard a sniff.  
  
"Would you care for some?" I asked. "There are more vegetables than meat in truth, but the tavern keep has a clever hand with spices. I'm more tired than hungry, and there are plenty of them here."  
  
"They do smell good," the tall dark man admitted. "Since you are kind enough to offer, yes, I would like one." I held one out, and it was engulfed by a large hand upon which I felt the roughness of sword and bow calluses. I withdrew my hand, uncorked the cider jug, and removed my helm with a sigh of relief. The hair Mablung had cut when he set my stitches was now growing out and was a short irritating stubble at the back of my head. I scratched it.  
  
"I am Hethlin, daughter of Halaran," I said by way of introduction, and picked up my own meat pie.  
  
"I am called Thorongil," said the man, evincing no particular surprise at the concept of a woman city guard, and then there was nothing more from either of us for a few moments but the sound of chewing. When I'd finished my first pie, I picked up the jug, took a drink, wiped the mouth of it with my sleeve, and passed it to my dinner companion, who did the same and set it back down. I offered him another pie , "--for they really aren't very good cold--" and he accepted it, but declined a third. He did, however, take a piece of cheese when it was offered, and some more cider. Then he went back to his pipe and watched me finish my meal, which took a little while, for despite what I had told him, once I started eating, I found I was actually very hungry and finished the rest of the food without pause.  
  
"You would be the one called Snowsteel, " he said at length. "The Lord Faramir's lady ranger."  
  
"Aye." I was unsurprised at his ability to identify me--my hair must have shone like a beacon in the night. Not for the first time, I contemplated the uses of dye when I returned to Ithilien. Walnut, perhaps. Or maybe something green? "And you must be with the Grey Company."  
  
"How is it you are so sure of that in the dark?" He sounded somewhat amused.  
  
"It was Elrohir who named me thus, so you must know him. And you speak with the accent of the North, and you smoke that pipeweed that all those Rangers are so fond of. Not that I've ever understood the appeal of that, though it does smell good. It seems an unhealthy habit to me."  
  
He chuckled. "It may very well be. But it can be a comfort on a cold night watch. Helps you stay awake."  
  
"Lets anything with a nose within half a mile know you're there, don't you mean!"  
  
"Well, 'tis true you have to choose the occaision carefully, but I'll warrant that were you in Eriador, and I wanted to stay hidden, you would not find me, pipe or no. And you should not condemn a vice till you've tried it. So, since you were kind enough to share your supper with me...." he held out the pipe, and I took it, placed it between my teeth still warm from his mouth, and inhaled deeply. The resulting coughing fit went on for some time, and he laughingly patted me on the back gently, removed the pipe from between my trembling fingers before I set myself on fire, and offered me the cider jug. I took a deep swig, then a deep breath.  
  
"Valar! That's horrible!"  
  
Thorongil chuckled again. He apparently found me to be quite amusing.  
  
"Small breaths at first, till you become accustomed. You are too bold, Snowsteel. Your father was much the same."  
  
I sat up straight. "You knew my father?"  
  
"Aye, I patrolled with him often in the North. A good man. I have been told of your loss, and I am sorry. I would very much like to have seen him again."  
  
"Then....he wasn't in disgrace? He hadn't done anything.....wrong?"  
  
"Wrong? Why would you think that?" He sounded genuinely surprised, and that heartened me.  
  
"Because he wouldn't talk about why he and Mother left the North, and he wouldn't let her talk about it either. He said he would tell me when I was old enough, and then he was killed before he got the chance to tell me. I was afraid that he'd done something awful, that he'd been cast out for some reason." The Northern Ranger tapped down his pipe, took out a small pouch, refilled it with his weed, and resumed puffing.  
  
"No, he was not cast out. He left of his own will. And he committed no crime, save to love where some thought he should not."  
  
"Mother?"  
  
"Aye. She was related, through collateral line, to the Chieftain himself, and many thought that she was one that Aragorn should wed."  
  
"The King?" I was surprised. "They thought she should wed the King? Oh dear, did he love her?" I felt a chill. If my father had offended Aragorn, where could I possibly go to live? He was king of Gondor and of Arnor now, and Rohan was his ally. I contemplated a future in Harad, and was not reassured.  
  
"Lady, whatever is the matter, you're pale as your hair!" There was genuine concern in his voice, and after a moment, realization. "Oh, no, it was nothing like that! Yes, the King loved your mother, but only as a dear kinswoman." I let out a sigh of relief. He paused for a moment, and seemed to be choosing his words carefully.  
  
"Your father seems not to have been a very...forthcoming man. Do you know aught of the history of your house?"  
  
"You mean, about the Witch-King and the traitor? I know...a little. I know that one of my ancestors betrayed the king Arveleg, and caused his death, and that he was blood-bound to the Witch-King."  
  
"Ah, he told you that much at least then." I did not correct his assumption. "Well, because of that, the house of the Eagle was widely held to be cursed. And events over the years seemed to bear this out. Your line never thrived, and was often fraught with misfortune, yet it never entirely failed either. The men of your house remembered their disgrace, and sought to atone for the shame their ancestor had brought upon them. Thus, they were always at the forefront of battles, and proved to be fell warriors time and time again, though because of their boldness they often fell in battle untimely young. Yet, always could they find wives, and always there was at least one heir."  
  
"Your fathers had an alliance with the Eagles of the Misty Mountains, and upon occaision the great birds would lend their skills to the Dunedain, if one of your house was involved. Yet despite their valor in war, and their special abilities, they were always somewhat shunned by the other Dunedain."  
  
I was irritated. "Why? Because of what one man did fifteen hundred years ago? How long does it take to atone for a mistake? And while they were about it, if they were shunning my father, why didn't they shun Aragorn too? HIS forefather kept the Ring, and caused no end of trouble, but nobody seems to mind about that!"  
  
Thorongil suddenly started coughing. I supposed some smoke had gone down the wrong way. I didn't exactly feel that I should take the liberty of slapping him on the back, but I offered him the cider jug, and he took a careful swig.  
  
"Yes, well, hmmm, you make a valid point there," he wheezed, "And I can see why you would feel that way, though I'd never quite considered it in that light before."  
  
"The reason that they were shunned," he continued after a moment, still a little raspy-voiced, "was that it was believed that the blood-bond still existed. There was a prophecy that said that at some time in the future, the Witch-King would rise again, and call again upon the House that had served him so well. At that time, they would either betray the Dunedain once more, or repudiate the Witch-King, and end the curse. So each heir to the House of the Eagle lived wondering if he would be the one to be called. And the other Dunedain were wary of offering friendship, lest they be involved in the betrayal."  
  
"Well! At least I don't have to worry about that now, thanks to the Lady of Rohan." I was not adverse to giving Eowyn the credit for ending the curse--it was not as if anyone (except perhaps my dreaming friend Faramir) would have believed anything I said about my meeting with the Witch King.  
  
"Yes. The Lady Eowyn was very valorous indeed." His voice was rather expressionless of a sudden. "I would imagine that the destruction of the sorcerer involved would mean the end of the blood-bond. So all that worry was for naught, no one was ever called, and perhaps your House has a brighter future now."  
  
"My House ends with me."  
  
"Rule may pass to a female, if she is the only child. It was thus in Numenor, long ago."  
  
"It ends with me." I reiterated, though I gave no other explanation. I'd only just met the man, after all.  
  
"You still have not explained how my father and mother fit into this," I reminded him. He sighed, and leaned forward, elbows on knees, cradling his pipe in his big hands.  
  
"You needed the background to go on with. So--your mother Liraniel was a lady of the highest lineage of the Dunedain, a fitting wife for the Chieftain himself. And your father was also of an ancient house--but one considered to be cursed. And there was a third party, also of an ancient house, but one uncursed. His name was Terenoth, and he was your father's sword-brother and boon companion. Often they patrolled together in the Wild, and many times had they saved each others lives. They were of a like mind in many things--and as it turned out, that included the woman they both loved. But your mother chose your father over Terenoth, and this drove a wedge between them."  
  
"Terenoth, who had ever chosen to ignore the curse that hung over your house because of the love he bore your father, suddenly remembered himself of it, and when your father and mother announced their betrothal, he began to endeavor to stir up bad feeling against him, talking of the ill-fortune that often befell brides of the House of the Eagle, and saying that Liraniel should marry Aragorn instead."  
  
"And finally, when that did not serve his purpose, he drew steel on his sword-brother at the wedding itself." I looked at him, wide-eyed at the enormity of that breach of custom, and he nodded sadly.  
  
"I was there, and I saw it all. Fortunately, your father was not sorely wounded, but our laws are adamant as regards such an offense, and Aragorn was forced to exile Terenoth."  
  
"Well then, that solved the problem, didn't it?"  
  
"I wish that it had. Terenoth's family was understandably wroth at what had happened, and Liraniel's kin felt that this was simply a confirmation of all that Terenoth had been saying about the curse. Halaran, though he was blameless in this matter, began to feel that his continued presence in Arnor would cause strife and dissension among the Dunedain--which was a weakness we could not afford. There were so very few of us left. So despite our Chieftain's entreaties, he made up his mind to remove to the South, and Liraniel, though it meant she left all her kin and all she'd ever known, agreed that they should do so. Your mother and father loved each other very much."  
  
"That part of the story I already know, my lord Thorongil," I said softly. His teeth flashed whitely in the darkness as he smiled. He was a very comely man, I could see that now, though somewhat noble and stern in visage.  
  
"I am glad that you do. You realize, of course, my lady Hethlin, that you are the King's ward, and I suspect that very soon now he will be taking a personal interest in your welfare."  
  
"What!?"  
  
"Have you not been listening to what has been said here? Your mother was a distant kinswoman of the king, and you can trace your lineage in unbroken line back to the Faithful themselves on both sides of your family. Such pure blood is rare now in Middle-Earth--the lineage of the kings of Rohan does not go back one third so far!  
You are anything but a farmer's daughter, Hethlin daughter of Halaran and Liraniel."  
  
"Well there's some good news that's about two months too late," I muttered to myself. Not that it particularly mattered. Whether I was a lady, or a princess, or whatever, I was one without family, without wealth, without land, and because of my past, definitely without prospects.  
  
He looked at me quizzically. "Did you say something?"   
  
"Nothing, my lord....I mean, yes, my lord. How well do you know the King?"  
  
"King Elessar the Elfstone of Gondor and Arnor? Not well at all, yet. But I have more than a passing acquaintance with Aragorn son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dunedain of the North. Why?"  
  
"What you said about him taking an interest in me--what do you think he will do?"  
  
"If I know Aragorn, and..... I rather think I do, he'll do nothing without consulting with you first. So it is not so much a question of 'what will he do?' as it is a question of 'what do you wish to do?'"  
  
"The Lord Steward had offered me the Ranger captaincy of North Ithilien."  
  
"Pardon me if I say you seem very young for that position."  
  
"I haven't been 'young' for a long time now, my lord," I said quietly, somewhat stung by his skepticism.  
  
"Do you think you could do that?"  
  
"Lord Faramir says I can, and he's very seldom wrong. And I know the territory like the back of my hand. Better even."  
  
"I didn't ask if the Steward thought you could do it, I asked if you thought you could." His tone was sharper of a sudden, and I bridled.  
  
"Yes! Yes, I could."  
  
"Hmmmmmm." He leaned back against the tree, as if satisfied about something, and I groaned as I realized something.  
  
"You aren't just a member of the Grey Company--you're a captain!"  
  
He started a bit. "What makes you say that?"   
"You were just giving me the Captain Look."  
  
"The 'Captain Look'?"  
  
"You know what I'm talking about! When you look at a man, and try to decide--is he rested? Well fed? In good spirits? Healthy? Can he go the distance? The Captain Look!"  
  
Thorongil tipped his head back against the tree, and began to laugh. "Guilty as charged, Ranger! Guilty as charged!" I watched him in aggrieved silence, until his laughter ran down and he wiped his eyes with the hand not holding the pipe.  
  
"What if the King offered to find you a husband--what would you tell him, Hethlin?" he asked at last.  
  
"No."  
  
"Just that? Just no? Most young women your age long for a husband."  
  
"I am not like most young women my age," I said flatly. "The answer would be no."  
  
"There is no young man you fancy, then?" He gave me a very penetrating look. Even with the dark partially obscuring it, his was a hard gaze to endure.  
  
"No."  
  
"You've never met any young man that you would consider marrying?"  
  
"No." I said it stoutly as before, but I was beginning to be unnerved by his unwavering regard.  
  
"Somehow, I think you are not being entirely truthful with me, lady Snowsteel."  
  
"Just because I shared my meat pies with you doesn't mean I have to share my secrets as well, Captain Thorongil." It came out a little more tartly than I had planned, and he raised his eyebrows.  
  
"No, I suppose you do not. Every lady should keep a few secrets for herself." He stood up and stretched, a tall man indeed, with a sword that was so much a part of him, that I knew even before he moved there was no way I'd ever be able to take him.  
  
"I owe you a meal, lady ."  
  
"Should I claim it soon, Captain? Will you be returning North now that the King is crowned?"  
  
"Actually, it's taken me such a long time to get here, I thought I might linger a while."  
  
"Well, if you liked the pies, the tavern's called the Red Dog, and it's down on the fifth circle. Fortunately, it's not called that because they use dogs in the pies! Their prices are reasonable, and that's a good thing. Keep hold of your coin as long as you can--you'll find this is an expensive city to live in, Captain." He made a funny sort of snort.  
  
"I will bear that in mind, lady Hethlin. A good evening to you."  
  
"And to you, sir." And he bowed and I bowed in return, then he departed, and after he was gone, I finally sought my bed. And though I am not Faramir, I had a dream for once, of a crowned and faceless stranger who twisted my life to a pattern of his own choosing. It was not a peaceful night. 


	15. The Swanlord

Author's Note--Because she saw something right from the start that I'd just begun thinking of as a possibility--this chapter is for Caerulea.  
  
The next morning I slept in, for Lord Hurin had told me my services would no longer be required after I had taken that extra watch, had thanked me for all my help, and commanded me to go forth and have some fun for a change. I had gone to bed in the small hours of the morning, after talking to the Northern Ranger captain, and my dreams had been restless in the extreme, filled with images of my being married off to some man who was only doing the King a favor. So when the dawn's first light crept into my room and fell upon my eyelids, I burrowed down beneath the covers, and stayed there. And when the knock came at the door, sometime after noon, I muttered some of Mablung's favorite Rohirrim curses, and tried to ignore it.  
  
But the knock came again, soft, persistent. "Go away!" I called out. "I'm trying to sleep here." It continued, and cursing, I rolled out of bed, quickly pulled on a pair of breeches and one of my older shirts, and stomped to the door.   
  
"If that's you, Lorend, I'll take your manhood myself, and save the poor young widows of Gondor!" I snarled, flinging the door open.  
  
A handsome prince stood in the doorway. Imrahil of Dol Amroth, combed and polished and perfect in dark blue leather, cocked his head to one side in the same way his nephew often did, and smiled at me. An esquire behind him, clad in his livery, politely looked away.  
  
"Generally, I'm all for saving poor young widows, " he commented, "But I'd like to keep my manhood intact, if it's all the same to you, Lady Hethlin. I remembered me that I'd promised you a discussion of the debt my house owes yours, and thought that this might be a good time. I see that oh....half an hour hence might be a better one? I have lunch, and horses. Might I attend upon you then?"  
  
"Of course, my lord Prince." I replied feebly. He smiled, his eyes twinkling.  
  
"I apologize for disturbing what was no doubt, a well-earned rest. You are kind to indulge me. In half an hour's time, then." He inclined his head politely, I gave him a bow, and he moved off down the hall. I closed my door, leaned back against it for a moment and groaned. Then I scampered over to the wash-stand, poured some water into the basin, and regarded my reflection--which was every bit as bad as I had feared. Sleep-puffy features, circles under the eyes and white hair flying every which way. Obviously, serious actions had to be taken.  
  
After creeping down the hall to relieve my self, I returned to my room and applied cold water and soap in the most ruthless, speedy cat-bath in the history of Middle-Earth. I reserved some of the clean water for my hair brush, and attacked my unruly locks without mercy. Eventually, I was able to bring them around to some semblance of order--save for the ridiculous frill of shorter hair sticking out the back of my head, about which nothing could be done. I then clothed myself in the best of my three sets of clothing. The tunic, coincedentally, happened to be dark blue. The vigorous use of a dirty shirt to buff my boots completed my toilette. About five minutes after that, the Prince returned.  
  
Ever the soul of politeness, he did not comment upon my much improved appearance, he merely thanked me once more for accompanying him, and said that it looked to be beautiful weather for a ride. We made our way down to the courtyard, and found two horses, his great grey charger, and to my surprised pleasure, the dark bay I'd ridden before, both groomed within an inch of their lives, the grey with a blue saddlecloth, the bay with a green, and what looked to be brand new tack upon him. I took his bridle from the esquire, and he nudged and lipped at me for treats.  
  
"I'm sorry lad, I don't have any breakfast to give you today. Would that I did! I owe you still for the retreat!" Prince Imrahil opened a pouch at his belt, gave me a hard roll and took one out for his own mount as well. The bay accepted it happily, mouthing while I checked my girth and the length of my stirrups, and swung up.  
  
"Ah ha! I see that it is you, my lord Prince, who are responsible for making him into such a bread bandit!"  
  
"Yes, I fear I do overindulge them a bit," he admitted as he mounted himself. "But they serve us so well and appreciate it so much." He dismissed his esquire with a polite word, and we rode out of the courtyard, passing slowly through the throngs of finely dressed people moving in and out. Court was in session once more today. I felt a moment's sympathy for the King, a Ranger forced to sit within doors upon a hard throne on such a lovely spring day.  
  
"You, my lord, are a soft touch." I chided the Prince.  
  
"Absolutely rotten," he agreed with a smile. "Have you forgiven me for waking you yet?"  
  
I stroked the satin neck beneath me, and lifted my face to the sun. "Oh yes."  
  
"Good." He said nothing more for a long while. We were almost out of the City when it occured to me--we had no escort, no bannerman, no herald clearing the way. There was not even an insignia on his saddlecloth. I looked at him suspiciously.  
  
"Prince Imrahil, are you playing truant?" He threw his head back and laughed, but then regarded me with the utmost seriousness.  
  
"I prefer to think of it as giving my three man-grown sons the opportunity to experience governence on a kingdom level without my direct supervision."  
  
"Right. Truant it is." He laughed again. "You realize they're going to come looking for you, and they'll think I abducted you. We Rangers do that sort of thing all the time."  
  
He raised his eyebrows, and nodded acknowlegement of his peril. "So I've heard. If the sons of Elrond are not safe, can anyone truly be said to be so? But fear not lady--I will attest to your innocence, should we be accosted."   
  
We passed through the Gate, or more correctly, where the Gate would be when it was rebuilt again (and negotiations were already underway with the Dwarves), turned right, and headed away from the road, and out into the Pelennor towards the River. We picked our way through the sizeable tent city that had sprung up around the Gate, until we reached the untenanted regions. Even then, we did not lift the horses out of a walk--though much restoration work had been done already, the ground was still treacherous in places with ditches and fissures and holes, the remains of timbers and even armor and weapons of the Enemy. Nevertheless, I was glad we went that way, instead of down the road. I had no desire to go anywhere near the hill, or the shattered ruins of the Causeway Forts.  
  
Eventually, the Prince found a site that suited him, a hillock that was high enough to overlook the Rammas and gave a good view of the river. We stopped, loosened girths, removed bridles, and hobbled the horses, then he undid a blanket from the back of his saddle, spread it out, and began to pull food from a pair of capacious saddlebags. I had to laugh when he pulled out a metal platter with the arms of Dol Amroth upon it, followed by a paper package, that when opened, contained a cold roast chicken.  
  
"Remind me to thank the Steward for taking the time, amidst all his other pressing business, to insure that the supply of chickens was restored." His voice was utterly deadpan, but his eyes were twinkling again. With a weird sense of unreality, I helped him with the rest of it--fine white bread, a couple of sorts of cheeses, some sausage, strawberries, and wine, all with napkins and dishes blazoned with the swan ship. I was having a picnic, of all things, with the man who was the second highest power in the land, after the King himself.  
  
He was a man old enough to have four grown children of my age and older, but in him the blood of Numenor ran true. There was only the occaisional silver strand in his black hair and his face and body were those of a much younger man. But his eyes were old, old with both experience, and the horrors of war recently endured, and I realized that though he might be somewhat more resilient than his nephew, he nonetheless had suffered in this war as well.  
  
Drawing his belt knife, he portioned the chicken, and sliced the other food. We began to eat and drink, he speaking of inconsequentialities, some funny stories from the courts that had taken place over the last few days. For a Prince, he was an incredibly easy person to be with, and his humor was never at someone else's expense. I tentatively contributed some humorous things that had happened on my watches during the celebration, and he laughed in all the right places. After a time, the warmth of the sun, and the food and wine in my belly all conspired to relax me and help me forget the exalted rank of the man next to me.  
  
If it seems peculiar that I should be intimidated by the Lord of Dol Amroth, and not by the Steward of Gondor, the answer is a simple one. I hadn't lain in ditches for three years with Prince Imrahil, I didn't know the sound of his snore in the depths of the night (and Faramir did snore, albeit softly, now and again, though he always denied it), we hadn't been in battle together countless times, he hadn't nursed me through a very intimate and uncomfortable illness. But he was doing his best to put me at ease.  
  
Finishing a strawberry, he lay back on the blanket, stretched and yawned, then pointed upward.  
  
"That one looks like a Mumak, don't you think?"  
  
"My lord?"  
  
"That cloud there--it looks like a Mumak."  
  
The sight of one of the mightiest warriors in the kingdom playing a child's game undid me, and I found myself, to my horror, giggling. He smiled in response, put his arms behind his head and closed his eyes.  
  
"Well, that's better. Perhaps we can talk plainly now, you and I. I think you know how I feel about my nephew. And I think I know how you feel about him."  
  
"My lord, I don't know where you got the idea--"  
  
"--I got the idea on the Pelennor, my child. I do have eyes. And I'm older than I look. Wiser too, I should hope, though that's not always certain. So tell me truthfully now--do you love him or do you not?"  
  
I drew my knees up defensively, wrapped my arms around them, and set my chin upon them. "Aye, my lord, I do."  
  
"Then in the Valars' name, why haven't you told him? Would you let the Lady of Rohan have him unchallenged?"  
  
"There are reasons, my lord."  
  
"Well, I should like to hear them! For the King would wish to see you happily settled, and, according to him, your bloodline is superior to hers. I mean no slander against the Lady Eowyn, for she is fair, and valorous, and in truth there is some merit to binding the kingdom even closer to Rohan. But I know my nephew well, and I am troubled in my mind over this match. I am not sure if he is truly in love with Eowyn, or simply in love with an idea that happens to be occupying the same space."  
  
"Though I have not known him as long as you, my lord, I do think he truly loves her. I know his moods pretty well, and there is a great light in his eyes when he looks upon her. That is one of the reasons why I've never spoken-- and until last night, when I spoke to a Ranger Captain that knew my father, I knew nothing of my bloodline. I thought I was a commoner. That was another reason."  
  
"That is an honorable position to take. I have heard that you have done much to ease the Lady Eowyn's loneliness in this City. And I am impressed--I can't think of too many people who would have behaved so chivalrously, had they been in your situation. But it's not enough, Hethlin. Unless you give me a reason why I should not, I am very close to asking Aragorn to intervene in this matter, and having him command Faramir to marry you."  
  
I shot to my feet, shocked. "He would not do so! Eomer would be offended!"  
  
Imrahil opened his eyes, rolled up onto an elbow, and looked up at me. "Eomer loves Aragorn, and would, I think, suffer this. Particularly if it were explained that my nephew must wed you to restore your honor. And his. Since he was responsible for dragging you over hill and dale with a troop of Rangers for three years, damaging your reputation, instead of returning you to your kin as he ought to have done."  
  
"There were no kin for him to return me to."  
  
"A technicality. He could have found someone to take you in. And Eomer is not unaware of his sister's fascination with the Lord Aragorn. He may be uneasy about this match as well."  
  
The world lay within my reach, a sparkling bauble but a teasing distance from my straining fingertips.  
  
"Would the Lord Aragorn marry Lady Eowyn if Lord Faramir broke the betrothal?" Would the happiness of two, possibly three people justify the end of the House of Mardil? I wondered. For Eowyn would be happy with Aragorn, and I would be happy with Faramir, and I thought I might even be able to make him happy with me eventually--once he got over his feeling of betrayal.  
  
"No. The King is already betrothed to someone else." So Eowyn would end up alone if this took place. So much for that idea. I sighed, and let the world go. Two would be happy, and the House of Mardil preserved.  
  
"My lord, I did not speak to your nephew because I am barren." That came out rather baldly, but I was hurting too badly to couch it any more politely.  
  
Comprehension rose in the Prince's eyes, and pity too. He gestured that I should sit back down beside him, and I belatedly remembered that one's head was never supposed to be above royalty's unless one was royalty oneself. I dropped rather gracelessly back down onto the blanket.  
  
"Do you know this for certain? And how?"   
  
"My lord, I was around the corner of the barn, watering this fellow here, the day Faramir told you how I became a Ranger. So I know you know what happened to me. But you don't know all of it. The orcs were very savage and cruel. I was torn up quite a bit, both ....inside and out. I bear the scars still, and am not very pretty from the neck down. Then the wounds festered, and I was sick for a long while. Lord Faramir cared for me himself, with his own two hands."  
  
"When I had recovered somewhat, and told him I wanted to be a Ranger, he insisted on taking me to Minas Tirith to the Houses of Healing, to make sure that I was healthy enough to fight. The healers there pronounced me well enough, but said that between the fever and the damage, I would never be able to bear children."  
  
"So that is another reason I have never spoken to Lord Faramir. That, and the fact that he knows what my body looks like, and has never shown the slightest interest in me in that way. I expect I repulse him. And even if I didn't, for a long time, I was not entirely sure I could bear to be touched as a man touches a woman." I paused for a moment, rather horrendously embarrassed, but Imrahil gave me a sympathetic look, and indicated that I should continue.  
  
"Now that some time has passed, I have...hope that in time I might be able to work my way through this. I have never minded when Faramir has laid a hand upon me, but he has always been most polite and impersonal. He has had to be, among the men." I blushed a little. "I have dreamed of him being otherwise, but I do not know what would happen, should I try to.... bed with him. As things now stand, I do know that I cannot marry him, or anyone." I shook myself in sudden, embarrassed, irritation. "What I don't know is why I'm telling you all of this!"  
  
"You're telling me because I asked you to speak truthfully, and you are a person of honor. You may rely upon mine that I shall not bandy this abroad." He sat up and looked keenly at me, and the compassion and pity in his eyes started mine to prickling and stinging, and I became angry with it as well.  
  
"Don't do that, my lord prince! You have no call to feel sorry for me! I do well enough for myself. I have friends, and my life is very full. Save your pity for those who truly need it."  
  
The compassion and pity were joined by something that might have been respect. He nodded slowly. "Very well, child. Though I will say the blood of Numenor runs deep and true in you! The King was quite impressed--he said you were most perceptive."  
  
"I've never met the King, my lord."  
  
"Oh yes, you did. Just last night. In the gardens at the Houses of Healing."  
  
"That was the KING? The Ranger Captain?" Imrahil nodded, smiling. All of the blood left my face, and the Prince, concerned, reached for my arm.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"No, my lord. Do you have your sword with you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then just slay me, slay me now, and get it over with!"  
  
"Whatever for?"  
  
"Because he probably will, the way I spoke to him!"  
  
"Come now, surely it couldn't have been that bad." That wretched twinkle was back in his eyes again.  
  
I moaned. "Oh, you have no idea! He told me why the Dunedain didn't like my father, and I said that if they didn't like him because of something his forefather did 1500 years ago, then they ought not to like Aragorn either, because of what Isildur did."  
  
Imrahil chuckled. "Yes, I know. He was most taken aback, when he recounted it to me. Which was quite entertaining, for it's very seldom that one sees Aragorn at a loss for words. And he said you had told him you did not wish to wed, though you'd given him no reason why."  
  
"Why should I? I didn't know he was the King, and I don't go talking about my situation to every stranger who asks on the street."  
  
"Of course. And now that you've told me, I do agree with you." I sighed and bowed my head. "Which is a shame," he continued, "for I think you'd be better for Faramir than she is."  
  
I looked at him surprised, and he sat back up the rest of the way, and began gathering up the remnants of our meal.  
  
"My third son, Amrothos, is a scholar and a musician and an engineer. He is not martial in the least, other than having an interest in seige equipment, and I have never asked that he become so against his truer nature. One more warrior in what I deemed at the time to be a doomed fight against the Enemy would not have turned the tide, and I felt that he would be done incalculable harm had he been forced to go to war. Faramir is another such one, but by virtue of his position, and his father's inclination, he was forced to go against his natural disposition and become a warrior. That he performed as magnificently as he did is a great credit to him, and that he finished the war sane is a great credit to all of the friends who surrounded him and supported him. I owe quite a debt to the Rangers of Ithilien, you not the least." I blushed yet again. It was becoming something of a habit.  
  
"But I do wonder," he continued, as he began stuffing items back into the saddlebags, "if Faramir hasn't taken some lasting harm from all this, something that may turn up years from now. It does happen somethimes. And if and when it happens, I would prefer that his wife be one who understood what he had been through. Though the Lady Eowyn slew the Captain of the Nazgul, that was but one battle. You were with him through most of the latter part of his long campaign. And I think you would not think the less of him, should some shadow fall upon him from that time."  
  
"No, my lord." I said quietly. "I would not. He has always been most patient with my weaknesses."  
  
"Weaknesses? You seem to have very few of them, from what I've seen."  
  
"I do not see how you can say that, my lord. You've seen me cry like a baby in battle."  
  
"I've seen you cry like a baby after a fight in which you were overmatched, and expected to die, yet still managed to prevail by sheer raw nerve. I'd have been crying too."  
  
"I doubt that, my lord." He offered me my goblet, in which some wine still remained.  
  
"Drink up, so that I may pack. All right, I may not be much inclined to cry these days," he conceded, "But when I was as young as you are--certainly." I gulped the wine down, and gave him the cup, which he placed in the saddlebag.  
  
"Now, I am going to give you some information which is not to be bandied about, and I'm giving it to you only because you need it in order for us to continue our discussion. Have I your word that you will not reveal it to anyone--most particularly Faramir?"  
  
"Of course, my lord prince."  
  
"Very good. At court tomorrow, the King intends to make Faramir the Prince of Ithilien. There will be two Princes of the realm, co-equal in rank."  
  
"Oh, my lord," I breathed, "that is wonderful! And so deserved! Mablung always used to say he was a prince in all but name."  
  
"Ah yes, Mablung does have a rather pithy way of cutting right to the heart of the matter, doesn't he?" I realized that Imrahil probably knew Mablung rather well by now, after the battle at the Black Gate, and nodded.  
  
"The reason I am telling you this, is I would like to ask you a question. Will you be able to serve him as the Ranger Captain of Northern Ithilien, if he is living in Emyn Arnyn in blissful domestic happiness with his wife and children? That's somewhat different from making an occaisional report to him as Steward in Minas Tirith. If I know Faramir, he will be out and about constantly, and you would see much of him. Could you bear that?"  
  
"I will have to, won't I?" I said simply. "I will bear whatever I must, my lord." He looked into my eyes for a moment and nodded.  
  
"I will lend my voice to Faramir's then, to convince Aragorn he should give you the captaincy. Now--onto more cheerful matters. As but a small part of the payment my House owes yours--the horse is yours."  
  
"My lord?"  
  
"The horse is yours, and his equipage. Or any other of mine you might like better, not excepting my own. Though I thought the bay did well enough for you before."  
  
"Oh, my lord prince!" I got to my feet, tears starting in my eyes, and moved to the dark bay, stroking his neck. "I like him very well!"  
  
The Prince grinned boyishly. "Well, I did ask Faramir what you should like, and he did say a horse would please you above all else. He is special horse, too. You will have noticed that almost all of my horses are gray?" I nodded. "I prefer them such, so as to make a good matched cavalry troop, and after years and years of selection, they breed true most of the time."  
  
"Only occasionally is a black or dark bay foaled, and they are considered a sign of good fortune. That's his name, by the way--Fortune. Since the two of you are so unusual, and special, it seems only fitting that he be yours." I rested my forehead against his soft neck for a moment, temporarily overwhelmed. Imrahil watched me with a kind smile. After a moment, I straightened, and turned to him.  
  
"Well, if nothing else, I shall certainly be the best equipped Ranger in Ithilien! With such a fine horse--and a new saddle and bridle! And Lord Elrohir gave me his bow last night!" Imrahil whistled in surprise.  
  
"An Elven bow! Well, that settles it! We must see that you become a Captain, lest your superior officer expire of jealousy because of your equipage!" Once again, that wretched giggle made itself known. Imrahil laughed in response, and turned to place the packed saddlebags upon his horse. Once he had done so, I assisted him with folding and tieing the blanket. Then we unhobbled the horses, bridled them, tightened our girths, and mounted.  
  
"I fear I must part company with you now, Lady Hethlin," the Prince said to me. "Unfortunately, I may only play truant for so long. Do you know where my house is located in the second circle?" I nodded.  
  
"I escorted your family there when they arrived, my lord prince. They seemed very nice, except they were impatient at Prince Amrothos because he wanted to examine the Gate."  
  
The Prince shook his head. "That's Amrothos! I believe he's still working on that particular project. I shall have to make sure he doesn't offend the Dwarven engineers when they arrive. And I'm glad you liked my family. What I meant to say, however, was that you should feel free to stable your horse in my stables whenever you are in the City. I have given orders to my master of horse to that effect, and my house is always open, whether I am in the City or not." My eyes widened at his generosity, for it was true I had had a momentary worry in all my joy about how I would care for Fortune properly, at least until my status was officially confirmed. I bowed to the Prince.  
  
"You are very kind, my lord Prince."  
  
"It's a poor gift that gives the recipient worry and expense," Imrahil replied. "I do naught here but what I should. And I imagine," and here the boyish grin flashed again, "that I can afford his bread bill somewhat better than you can! Good day, Captain!"  
  
"Good day, my lord Prince!" I bowed in the saddle, and he nodded to me graciously, and turned his mount back towards the City. But since he'd been right about it being a beautiful day for riding, I rode Fortune carefully over the Pelennor for a while, and eventually to the Ranger camp, where I showed him off to much admiration, and it was discovered that he not only liked bread, he would lap up beer if given some in a bowl. This trait gave him the ultimate Ithilien Ranger seal of approval. We returned after dark, and on the well-paved road, I let him show me some speed. I then spent a long time in the stables of Dol Amroth, grooming him and cleaning and oiling my new tack, and went to bed a deliriously happy girl, my worries about the future temporarily banished, to dream of flying and the wind in my face.  
  
Author's Equine Note--Tolkein appears to have a thing about grey horses. Shadowfax and all the horses in Eomer's troop are grey, including Arod and Hasufel. Aragorn's horse, Roheryn, brought down from the north, is grey. The Swan Knights as they ride to Minas Tirith, are described as being mounted on grey horses--seven hundred of them! There is a mention of black horses amongst the Rohirrim--that Sauron's minions steal them, for obvious reasons. And the hobbit's ponies are apparently various colors. But most everything else is grey.  
  
The White Stallions of Lipizza are actually greys, almost all of them. But very, very occaisionally, a dark bay or black foal will be born, and it is considered lucky. I have a video that shows one of these horses. I took this tendency, and applied it to Imrahil's horses. (My horse, Mira, is half Lipizzan.) 


	16. The King

Author's Note--This is the first time in this story that I have had to quote Tolkein directly. You'll know it when you see it-it's the good dialogue! Many, many, many thanks to all the people who have been reviewing this and e-mailing me and encouraging me all along--Altariel, Dwimordene, Alon, Caerulea, Soledad, Miss Padfoot, and all the rest of you lovely people. Hang in there a bit longer with me, folks, we're almost through!  
  
  
I woke up the next morning early, and in a far better frame of mind than I had been the day before. Court was to begin at ten, and I was dressed, and thinking about getting breakfast, when Mablung knocked on the door.  
  
"You up yet, Heth?"  
  
"Aye!" I opened the door, and Mablung came in. He was carrying a towel, and a comb and scissors.  
  
"What's that for?" I asked suspiciously.  
  
"I'm just going to give your hair a trim. Want you to look nice for court today." I grinned.   
  
"Did you give everyone else a haircut?"  
  
"Actually yes, a bunch of them yesterday afternoon. You're the last."  
  
"You missed your calling, Mablung. You should forget the Rangers, and go be a barber-surgeon." He pulled up my one wooden chair, and harrumphed in response.  
  
"Sit down, and hold still." I did as he commanded, and he spent considerable time fussing and trimming tiny bits off the ends.  
  
"Just go ahead and cut it off, Mablung, and stop messing about. It's getting down to my shoulders now."  
  
"I know that, and I'm thinking you should just let it grow. A little longer, and you'll be able to pull it back in a tail. And then it will be out of your eyes."  
  
"You just want to make me look girly, admit it."  
  
"Heth, half the people in the City know you're a woman now, and it doesn't seem to matter. They know you're competent. Why not try to look a little pretty as well?"  
  
I sighed resignedly. "Do whatever you want, Mablung. You will anyway." So he fussed, and he trimmed, and I had to admit that he'd done a nice job when he was finished. My hair fell down to my shoulders in a neatly trimmed bob.  
  
"That does look nice," I told him as he whisked the towel off my shoulders.  
  
"Aye, not half bad if I say so myself. Here, stand up and let me have a look at you."  
  
"Oooooooh. Inspection!" Not that he'd find too much to complain about. I'd sent my poor, tattered Ranger cloak to the fuller's against this occaision, and it was clean, and mended as much as was possible. The tunic and breeches and shirt were some of the new ones I'd gotten in Minas Tirith the night before we'd ridden to Osgiliath, and they were clean too. The tunic was dark green, and made a reasonable substitution for my Ranger tunic, ruined during the Nazgul attack on our way to the City. I'd soaped and oiled my belt and boots and quiver, which contained only newly fletched arrows with green feathers. Nothing needed to be done to Elrohir's bow. Now that my hair was fixed, I felt I was quite presentable.  
  
Mablung, however, seemed to feel otherwise. He cocked his head to one side and surveyed me. "Hmmmmm. Clean, but plain. Needs something." He reached into his belt pouch, and pulled out the something.  
  
"Here you go, Heth. We divvied up the Haradrim stuff this morning, and I took this for your share." Over the last few years, as the Rangers of Ithilien had met the Haradrim in conflict, we'd amassed quite a bit of gold, jewelry, armor and weapons--like the gold-inlaid black horse bow I'd used before Elrohir gave me his. Much of it had gone on to the City to help fund the war effort, but Faramir had held some back for his men, as his Captain's share, in case the City was unable to pay us at any point. I didn't think he'd ever mentioned this to his father. There had been enough that each of us would get at least one nice piece. I'd forgotten about it completely, but, as usual, Mablung had looked after my interests.  
  
What he fastened around my neck was a necklace of three strands of heavy gold, amber and ivory beads. The ivory was very delicately carved, and the whole piece was somewhat finer than was typical of Haradrim martial jewelry. I wondered if perhaps it was a woman's necklace, that she'd sent off to war with her beloved for good luck. If so, I could only hope that it would prove luckier for me.  
  
"This is beautiful, Mablung. I think I remember this one."  
  
"Well, I thought you should have it because of the mumak ivory. So did everyone else."  
  
"Did you get something for Lorend? And what about yourself? I don't see you wearing anything flashy. Though......wait a minute--isn't that a brand new tunic and shirt?" The tunic was actually quite handsome. A darker green than mine, it was embroidered about the hem with leaping stags. And the shirt had obviously been made to match, with green and brown stitching to match the tunic. Rather to my surprise, he flushed a dull red, and muttered something unintelligible.  
  
"What was that again?"  
  
"I said, don't you worry about me any. I already got my share, and cashed it in." He pulled out another necklace and earrings, of gold alone, and not so finely worked as mine, but impressive nonetheless.  
  
"This is Lorend's. Think he can bait a few women with it?"  
  
"Oh yes. Not that he needs any help or anything." I looked at the earrings. "I wonder how he'd look with his ears pierced." For the necklace and earrings were a man's jewelry--many of the Haradrim warriors wore earrings.  
  
"It'd be more to the point to pierce that one's lips, and sew 'em shut. But let's go collect him--we're running late."  
  
"We're not that late, and I want breakfast!" My stomach was growling fiercely.  
  
"We'll head down to the dining hall then, and see if he's there first. If he isn't, you can grab a bite, and I'll go fetch him. But hurry!"  
  
So we went down to the dining hall, and Lorend was in fact there, in his Ranger tunic and cloak--and an exceptionally nice silk shirt embroidered about the collar and cuffs with green leaves. I admired it as I wolfed down some toast and cheese and ale, but he wouldn't let me touch it till I'd wiped my hands.  
  
"So is this spoils for your time with the tailor twins?" I inquired, as Mablung all but dragged us out down the corridors towards the Hall of Audience.  
  
"Aye."  
  
"Which one did it?"  
  
"Dairenn. That's how I met her--I commissioned the shirt."  
  
"Nice. Hmmmmmm, what's this on the back of the collar?" I made a show of examining it as we hurried along. "Nice embroidery! I can barely make it out--it appears to be letters of some kind amongst the leaves. Oh, I see now--'Curse you, you faithless wretch!'" Lorend turned his head as far back over his shoulder as he could, and tried to pull the back of the collar forward to examine it. I started to laugh.  
  
"Got you!" Lorend cursed me concisely and bitterly while Mablung snorted.  
  
"Can we hurry, please--children!" Finally, we fetched up against the entrance to the Hall of Audience, where Mablung exchanged a few low words with the Tower Guard who stood there before he admitted us.  
  
I had been in the Hall of Audience a time or two before, on this errand or that for Faramir. The pillars, the immensity, the many colored traceries on the ceiling, the great throne with its helm-shaped canopy-- all were incredibly impressive and daunting in their magnificence when empty. When the Hall was filled to overflowing, as it was today, the effect was almost overwhelming, though in truth, the crowd was not as colorful as in previous days. The centermost portion of the hall was a sea of sable and silver, the men of the City Guard, with a smaller contigent wearing the winged helms of the Tower Guard. Ranged upon either side of them were Riders of Rohan in their green and white, and the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth in blue and silver. In front of the Riders was the entire company of the Rangers of Ithilien in green and brown, a small group by comparison, whilst a similar sized group of seafaring types stood to the fore of the Swan Knights.  
  
This court, unlike those of the previous days, had been called solely so that the King could recognize the valor of all those who had fought and helped him gain his throne, and the peacock presence of the courtiers was much reduced. The courtyard outside the Citadel, and the streets surrounding it were filled with the kin of the soldiers who stood within, and from time to time heralds would venture forth to relate to the crowds the list of honors as they were announced within. Cheers would rise outside throughout the day, whenever a particularly popular warrior was named.  
  
Up upon the dias, however, many great personages were present. The King,clad in his jet black mail and white cloak, looked magnificent, the Elfstone at his throat, the winged helm on his head and his sword across his knees. Upon either side of him were two thrones set, and upon them sat King Eomer of Rohan, looking like a god of olden times in gold-washed mail and a golden circlet and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, like unto an Elf lord in his shining silver armor, and a circlet of sapphires and crystal upon his dark hair. To either side of the dias were other notables seated--the sons of Elrond, Elf lords indeed, also martially clad, sat with certain grim looking members of the Grey Company.  
  
Prince Imrahil's family was there in its entirety save for his second son Elchirion, who had, report made it, returned home to see to business upon the coast. I got my first look at his oldest son and heir, Elphir, also mail-clad for the occaision, and thought he resembled his sire greatly. He was seated between his sister Lothiriel and a sweet-faced young woman in Dol Amroth blue and a gemmed circlet who I suspected might be his wife. Prince Amrothos was on Princess Lothiriel's other side initially, until about an hour into the court. Then he moved back to the second rank of nobles to escape her jabbing elbow and hissed admonitions, displacing a less exalted person so he could read the book he'd brought with him in peace. I saw his father give him a raised eyebrow and a wry look, but he did not attempt to stop him.  
  
Eowyn was there too, dressed in white, seated in a throne-like chair beside her brother. Many lords and Marshals of the Mark gathered about them, including the Marshal of the Riders. Lord Hurin stood close at hand, and in chairs close to the King's throne, sat another Elf, pale-haired and clad in misty green and silver, and a dwarf with a fierce red beard and some truly magnificent armor. I realized that they must be Legolas and Gimli, the Companions of the Ring that everyone had heard so much about. After a time, I saw a head peering over the arm of the King's throne and realized that the perian, Pippin, was waiting upon him, clad in the uniform of the Tower Guard, and that indeed, Merry was present as well in the livery of the Mark, waiting upon Eomer and Eowyn. Of Mithrandir, or Frodo and Samwise, there was no sign.  
  
Faramir was sitting, when he had the opportunity to sit, which was seldom for he was helping to orchestrate the whole affair, in his Steward's chair on the bottom step, which had been moved to one side to expedite the flow of people to and from the King. He had put on dark green for the occaision to honor his Rangers, in place of his habitual black, though it was trimmed in black and silver, and his valet or someone had managed to make his hair look reasonably tidy for once. Mablung eventually got us to the front ranks of the Rangers, arguably one of the best places in the house, and Faramir, when he saw us there the next time he looked that direction, acknowledged us with a quick smile and a small wave of his hand close to the body. He looked busy and happy and proud, and I couldn't help but be happy for him, with a King he respected to love and serve, and his lady close at hand. Not to mention the honor I knew was going to come his way before the day was out. I hugged my secret knowledge to myself, but I have ever been somewhat transparent, and Mablung knew that something was up.  
  
"Heth, you look like a cat licking its whiskers clean of cream," he informed me severely. "What's going on?"  
  
"I happen to know something that you don't for a change, Mablung, and I'm enjoying it."  
  
"You going to tell us?"  
  
"No, I gave my word I wouldn't. And it's not like this has ever happened to me before. I'm going to savor it while it lasts."  
  
"I see. Well, at least one of us is enjoying herself."  
  
But even the anticipation of what was to come was not enough to keep me from being bored with the proceedings in the end. There were several hundred of us in there, and the King made a point of speaking to each one individually, and many received material rewards, or promotions of some sort. He started with the City Guard, and had worked through a good portion of them by an hour past noon, when a recess was called so that the royal personage could get lunch and refresh himself. It looked as though to work through the entire lot of us was going to take the rest of the day, and into the night, but it seemed ungrateful to complain when the King had to do the most work of any of us.  
  
When the recess was called, about half the soldiers within made their way outside to find family members who had brought food, or to find a nearby tavern. The other half, most probably the ones who had reason to believe they'd be called soon after court was resumed remained. Those were almost all City Guard, and stood talking amongst themselves. It was time to discuss lunch arrangements.  
  
"Mablung, Lorend and I are still living here in the Citadel. We can get you into the servants'dining hall with us, if you want." I told him. Much to my surprise, his cheeks got a little red for the second time that morning.  
  
"I'm taken care of, lass. You and the lad fend for yourselves, and I'll join you afterward." And with no further ado, he melted into the crowd. Lorend and I looked at each other, eyebrows raised.  
  
"Now that," Lorend declared, "almost cries out for a bit of stealthy reconnaisance." He looked over my shoulder at something, and paled suddenly. "Particularly since I see your drinking companion and her very large, very royal brother headed our way! I'll see what I can find out. Catch you later, Heth!" And he too did the Ranger fading trick and vanished. I turned, and rather to my surprise, saw Eowyn coming towards me, the King of Rohan in tow.  
  
"Hethlin! How are you? I want you to meet my brother!" She held no grudge about our last encounter, I was glad to see. I bowed to her, and lower still to the King.  
  
"My lady. My lord king." Eomer of Rohan was as fair as his sister--in, of course, an extremely vigorous, masculine and virile fashion, and his eyes were a bright, hot blue. He took my hand in his, and gave it a firm squeeze. I suspected what would be expected of me in return, and squeezed back as hard as I was able. He grinned, opened my hand and examined it, then looked me up and down as if he were assessing my better points. Somewhat to my surprise, I realized he was not at all displeased with what he saw by any means.  
  
"She's got a good grip, sister," he said approvingly. "And a pretty mane. I like greys." Eowyn rolled her eyes. I took a chance.  
  
"Perhaps the King would like to check my teeth while he's about it?" Eomer's laughter rang out loudly, and several people looked our way. I saw the Princess Lothiriel give our group a look of commingled longing and jealousy.  
  
"Oh, you were right about her, 'Wyn! A Gondorrim who speaks her mind! I must see more of this rarity! But over lunch. We've not much time before Aragorn reconvenes, so let's go, and see if we cannot return the favor she did you by keeping you well-supplied with beer against my return." I blanched a little at the prospect of a lunch where I was expected to keep pace with the beer consumption of the royal house of Rohan, a test I'd already failed miserably, but was given no choice. Eomer threw one long arm about his sister's waist, the other about mine, and carried us off with no further ado.  
  
  
So rather to my amazement, instead of the servants' hall, I found myself at the lunch which had been prepared for the royalty of Rohan, who were all seated in a chamber to themselves. Eowyn sat on Eomer's right hand, while I had the left-hand seat. Merry was not present--perhaps he had gone to eat with the other hobbits. The King saw to it that my glass was kept full, and that choice bits found their way to my plate, as was the guest custom in his land. I was careful in my turn to keep my beer consumption to small sips, and sat for a long time simply listening to the rolling cadences of their language. Eomer noted my interest.  
  
"Do you speak our tongue at all, lady?"  
  
"No, sire. My father did somewhat. I grew up in Anorien. I love the way it sounds, but I only know a few words."  
  
"The bad ones," Eowyn added, rather unnecessarily, I thought. She'd had a couple of tankards by now, but was being outpaced by her brother, who nonetheless looked absolutely unchanged. The king grinned.  
  
"Oh really? Which ones?" I turned beet red, and it wasn't from the beer.  
  
"Come lady, whisper them in my ear. I'll tell no one." His blue eyes met mine challengingly, and I lifted my chin and decided to brazen it out. His golden hair tickled my nose as I murmured softly into his ear, as concisely and coolly as I could. He chortled, a deep, rich sound.  
  
"You have a good accent."  
  
"So I've been told, my lord king."  
  
"But you need some more words for your collection. Allow me." And he murmured a couple of phrases into my ear in return. Eowyn looked at her brother suspiciously.  
  
"Eomer, what did you say to her?" The king shrugged, grinned, and addressed himself to his plate. Eowyn got out of her chair, and came to my shoulder.  
  
"Hethlin, what did he say to you?" She bent down, and I murmured the words to her as closely as I could remember, whereupon she immediately turned and punched her brother in the arm. He simply laughed.  
  
"What did he say, Eowyn?" I suspected it was as vile as the words I already knew, and Eowyn's response confirmed this.  
  
"I can't tell you that--it would damage diplomatic relations between Gondor and Rohan! How could you, Eomer! She's Aragorn's kinswoman, for Valar's sake!"  
  
"He might actually think it a good idea. Bind our two nations closer, and all that."  
  
"Not what you proposed, brother!" And she sat back down and sipped her beer broodingly. Eomer gave her a smile, then turned to me, and said something out loud this time.  
  
"There, Eowyn, translate that if you would." She gave him a smouldering look, and he chuckled.  
  
"This time, he says he thanks you for all your kindnesses on my behalf, and he's glad to discover that Gondor too, has fell and pretty shield maidens."  
  
"Thank you, my lord king." I inclined my head politely. "Where is the Lord Faramir, lady?" I asked Eowyn, hoping to make Eomer's prank forgotten.  
  
"He had too much to do to join us for lunch, though he promises to be present at dinner," she answered, her face softening with a fond smile. It looked as if things were going well on the courtship front, at least. We discussed some of the plans for the immediate future, Eomer's return to Rohan with his sister and the eventual return of King Theoden's body.  
  
"Do you think you'll be able to come to Rohan when we bring Theoden King home?" Eowyn asked me. "You had said that you'd like to do that."  
  
"It depends on what the King has planned for me. I'll know more after today, I suspect. Oh--I nearly forgot to tell you! The Prince of Dol Amroth gave me a horse yesterday, Eowyn!" And from that point on, the conversation became a very equine one, with the king and anyone nearby who could speak Westron chipping in their opinions on the merits of the Dol Amroth bloodline. It seemed all too short a time before the bell signalling the resumption of court rang out, and we returned to the Hall of Audience.  
  
"Did you get enough beer, lady?" Eomer asked with a grin as we moved into the Hall. Eowyn had been telling tales, it seemed. I smiled sweetly back at him.  
  
"As much as I could handle, my lord. Unlike some people, I don't have a nice throne to sit upon if I start to tilt a bit to one side." He laughed again, declared himself charmed, clapped me on the back so hard that I staggered a bit, and made his way back to his throne. I rejoined the Rangers, suffering the inevitable commentary and speculation on exactly how I'd spent my lunch hour. Stud jokes amused the Company for a half hour or so, but people were careful to keep them quiet, conscious of the Riders all too close to hand. Then things settled down once more into quiet boredom, interspersed with occaisional enthusiasm when a Guardsman was recognized that the Rangers knew personally. There was a continual movement of folk in and out of the hall, to take the air, or for other reasons. I quite admired the King, who for hour after hour greeted his men with the exact same air of quiet gratitude and interest without respite, never flagging or seeming to grow tired, giving each one a personal memory of their sovereign that they could carry happily to the end of their lives.  
  
The King finally worked his way through the City Guard, and King Eomer began making presentations to certain of his men, speaking in both Rohirric and Westron, so that all could understand. He had a lovely deep voice, and was a good speaker, a charismatic leader, if not quite so imposing as Aragorn. He was some ways into his presentations, when I realized something.  
  
"Mablung, did the King give anything to Beregond of the Guard? Did I miss it?"  
  
Mablung pondered a moment. He had reappeared as inexplicably as he'd left, and had managed to give Lorend the slip in the process.  
  
"I don't think so, Heth, now that you mention it. I was waiting for that, because of what he did for the Captain and all."  
  
"You don't think the King is punishing him for leaving his post, do you? I'd hate to think of him locked in a dungeon somewhere."  
  
"Don't think that's Aragorn's style, Heth. Besides, he wasn't upset with Beregond when we were marching on the Black Gate. My guess is he'll do something for him quietly, since he did break the rules. Now--have you given any thought to the resupply for Henneth-Annun?" And we spent the next little bit discussing business--rosters, supplies, patrol routes. I found it all quite engrossing, and the next time we bothered to watch the proceedings, it was late in the afternoon, the Rohirrim were finished with their presentations, and the Prince of Dol Amroth was introducing his notable warriors to the King. Mablung snorted.  
  
"Looks like he's saving the best for last. Lucky us, huh?" I was personally unsurprised--Faramir's crowning would be the high point of the day, and the King would undoubtedly leave it for the end. Though for my part, the strain of waiting to see if he would confirm my captaincy was beginning to wear upon me.  
  
Another, shorter recess was called at dusk. Court was clearing out somewhat. Many of the City Guardsmen who'd been recognized had reunited with their families and returned home for the evening, and some of the Riders had returned to their camps. The Swan Knights remained in force, however, and some of the usual collection of courtiers were slipping in, now that the concentration of commoners was going down. I looked at the extreme variation of the dresses the ladies wore in bemusement.  
  
"I don't think I'll ever understand fashion." I told Mablung. He grimaced.  
  
"I think it mostly gives silly women who don't have enough important work in their lives something to do. Silly men, too." And he pointed out a minstrel with the most amazing sleeves. There was quite a clot of color about the Prince of Dol Amroth, and I asked Mablung about it.  
  
"Butterflies around the honey pot, Heth, butterflies around the honey pot. The man's a widower, and the richest man in the kingdom. It's always like that when he comes to court."  
  
"Surely the King is richer?"  
  
"Nay. The King has a lot of rebuilding to do. Dol Amroth is unscathed, and they've been taking in harbor fees and tariffs from that port of theirs for centuries. Not to mention all that incredible farmland the Prince has down around Belfalas. But I'm sure Imrahil will front Aragorn a loan if he asks for it." He looked at the ladies and grinned. "He's too fast on his feet for the lot of you, lasses! Been doing this dance for a couple of decades now!" I laughed to think of all the dissappointed ladies, and the bell to reconvene rang. The flood of color around Prince Imrahil receeded, and he resumed his throne with quick celerity. The King, who had come in right before the bell, leaned over to him and said something. Imrahil laughed, and answered, and the King sat up, grinning. Then, Aragorn's glance moved across the room, and fell, to my surprise, upon me. He looked at me for a moment, and the grin faded. A thoughtful expression replaced it, and I shivered a bit.  
  
"What's the King giving you the eye for, Hethlin?" asked Lorend, persisting in his usual habit of extreme perception at exactly the wrong time.  
  
"Probably figuring out if he's going to simply hang me, or skin me first."  
  
"Whatever for, lass? You've done nothing to him. Never even met the man." said Mablung, giving Aragorn a quizzical stare in return, but the King was now speaking to Eomer of Rohan.  
  
"Oh, yes I have." When the two of them turned to me in surprise, I gave them the tale of my encounter with Ranger Captain Thorongil. Mablung groaned when I came to the part about Isildur.  
  
"Oh, Heth, you didn't!"   
  
"I surely did!" I exclaimed, irritated all over again at my stupidity. "Though it was the way I felt at the time, and truth to tell, I still feel that way."  
  
"But to tell him that--"  
  
"I didn't know he was the King!"  
  
"But you knew he was a member of the Grey Company, and for all you knew was Aragorn's sworn sword-brother or something. That lot hangs together real tight, they do."  
  
"Fine, Mablung, I've doomed myself. You don't have to rub it in." I crossed my arms in disgust. Lorend appeared much taken with a sudden thought.  
  
"Hmmmm-does that mean your captaincy is up for grabs, Heth?" Both Mablung and I gave him simultaneous, quelling stares. He grinned somewhat defensively.  
  
"Just asking."  
  
  
Finally, as dusk deepened into night, the Rangers' turn came, and Faramir stood on the steps below the throne and brought before the King for his approbation all of our friends and comrades. After waiting all day and part of the night for our turn, we were not civilised--we whooped and cheered, drawing the disdainful glances of the ever-increasing crowd of courtiers, and amused looks from Eomer, Elrohir and Imrahil. Damrod, Anborn, Lorend and all the others went up in their turn. Lorend came back down after his interview, shaking his head and whistling in admiration.   
  
"He's something, isn't he?"  
  
When Mablung and I were the only two left, Faramir indicated that the two of us should approach the royal presence together. Mablung gave me a steadying touch on the elbow as we started forward. It seemed to me that a silence had fallen, though I'm sure that was just my anxiety, and people were talking amongst themselves as they had all day. My bootheels on the pavement sounded loud as drums, and my heart seemed not much quieter. We mounted the steps, and bowed when directed, and stood before the King, who rose from his throne and approached Mablung.  
  
"Captain, your deeds on our journey to the Black Gate, and after our arrival there, by themselves have gained you much reknown, and are deserving of much reward. But my Lord Steward has also said much of your years of daring and faithful service to the kingdom of Gondor. It pleases me to confirm you as Captain of the South Ithilien Ranger Company, and to give you a portion of that which you have defended so well." Pippin brought forward a brooch, which the King pinned onto Mablung's shoulder, and a piece of parchment sealed with the King's seal, which proved to be a land grant of generous size, and good quality, close to Emyn Arnyn. Mablung's eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, obviously much moved.  
  
"The King is generous," he husked, but Aragorn merely shook his head.   
  
"The King merely rewards that which is deserving of reward." And he leaned forward, and embraced Mablung, who then bowed to him once more, and took a step backward down one of the steps. Then he turned to me.  
  
"My lady Hethlin--you have the most interesting set of advocates! The Lord Steward, the White Lady of Rohan, Lord Hurin, Prince Imrahil, this gentleman here, my foster brothers Elrohir and Elladan--" he shot an ironic glance in Elrohir's direction, and Elrohir simply smiled in response, and made an equally ironic bow from his chair. "All of them your devout adherents, and all of them eager to preach to me of your many talents and abilities. Your loyalty. Your courage. Your horsemanship. Your skill with a bow. And so forth and so on. I myself know firsthand of your unique persepective on the ancient history of our people." The greys eyes beneath that imposing helm were twinkling a bit, but I cast mine down, and bowed my head in dismay.  
  
"Your deeds on the Pelennor, and your long and faithful service make you deserving of this," and he pressed into my hand a parchment like unto Mablung's. "You will find the land every bit as good, and hard by your old friend's, here. Quite suitable for horses, I believe. I trust that does not displease you?"  
  
"No, Sire," I said, finally looking up and meeting his eyes once again. He nodded approval.  
  
"Good. Now, as to other matters--I am not going to confirm you in the Captaincy of North Ithilien." Both Mablung and Faramir started to speak, but he forestalled them with an imperious gesture of his hand.  
  
"Not because of any lack on your part, nor any lack of faith on mine. The Steward feels you could do the job, you feel you could do the job, and so do I. But I foresee needing your service in another capacity entirely in the future, and you do not yet have the skills you will require for that. And as yet, I do not have the staff here in Minas Tirith to give you the instruction you need. So I needs must rely upon another of my most trusted vassals. Prince Imrahil!"  
  
The Prince raised an eyebrow. "Sire?"  
  
"Attend us, please." The Prince rose from his throne and came to the King's side. There was a muttering from the Rangers, and the rest of the crowd. The King's words had been too low to be heard by the audience, but Imrahil's presence alerted them that something unusual was going on.  
  
"Your court is the most cultured and civilized in Gondor. This lady is my kinswoman from afar, and as such, has a place within the royal court. But, through no fault of her own, she lacks...polish. And though her martial skills are formidable, I judge they could be improved. Would you be willing to take her as an esquire, and train her up to be a Swan Knight?"  
  
Mablung and Faramir looked at each other, nonplussed. I looked at the King in disbelief, not sure how to feel. A Swan Knight? I truly wanted to go back to my friends in Ithilien, and resume my life there as a Ranger. But the Swan Knights were the finest mounted warriors in the kingdom....Prince Imrahil was regarding me thoughtfully.  
  
"I would not be adverse, Sire, if that is your wish. Though there has never been a woman among my company."  
  
"Whether she actually becomes a Swan Knight or not, I trust you, my friend, to teach her the many things she will need to know." Imrahil nodded assent, and the King turned his attention back to me.  
  
"I know that this is not how you would have wished things to go, Hethlin, but I ask you to bear with me. Swear fealty to Prince Imrahil now, and study with him for two years, and at the end of that time, should you desire to return to Ithilien, I will grant your request. Will you do this thing for me?"  
  
What else could I do? I nodded my assent. "Yes, Sire, if that is your wish." So he bade me kneel, and set my hands between the Prince's, and swear the oath. I felt myself shaking a little because of the long day, the stress of waiting or dissappointment--I was not sure which. And my hands must have been cold as ice, for the Prince started, then gave me a sympathetic look as he took them in his own. We each repeated our part of the formula, Faramir giving me a prompt when necessary, for it was not something I'd ever studied, or magined needing to do. His face was unreadable. Imrahil then helped me up and gave me a ceremonial embrace.  
  
"Come now child, it won't be as bad as all that!" he murmured in my ear before he released me, then indicated that I should follow him to where his family sat, and take Prince Amrothos' deserted chair. Princess Lothiriel gave me a frankly curious look as I sat down.  
  
There was a dangerous muttering amongst the Company as I took my seat with the Dol Amroth contingent. The King raised his eyebrows, and his voice, which carried throughout the hall.  
  
"You didn't like that, did you?" he asked the Rangers, who immediately became very quiet. "You certainly are an insubordinate lot! You question my decisions, you abduct my very kinsmen......." Of a sudden, his voice cracked like a whip. "All of you, up here, right now! Form up here!" And his hand pointed to the foot of the stairs. "Captain Mablung, take command of these miscreants!" Mablung bowed, and started down the stairs--I could tell he was somewhat worried, but trusting of the King, and willing to wait upon events. The Rangers, who were far more worried, shuffled forward mumbling into a formation of sorts. Close-order marching was not an art much practised in Ithilien. Faramir started to say something to the King, but Aragorn stopped him with a shake of his head.  
  
Once they had formed up, the King looked down upon them with a grim expression.  
  
"Let us see if I can make some decisions you will not question, then. Summon forth Beregond of the Guard." And Beregond was brought forth, and made to kneel before the King, since this was a matter of judgement, and not reward. The King regarded him gravely, and the rest of us looked upon the King in bafflement, for we had no idea where he was going with this.  
  
"Beregond, by your sword was blood spilled in the Hallows, where that is forbidden. Also, you left your post without leave of Lord or Captain. For these things, of old, death was the penalty. Now therefore I must pronounce your doom."  
  
"All penalty is remitted for your valour in battle, and still more because all that you did was for the love of the Lord Faramir. Nonetheless, you must leave the Guard of the Citadel, and you must go forth from the City of Minas Tirith." Those of Beregond's friends in the Tower Guard, who had remained to see what would become of him, groaned in disbelief and misery, and the Guardsman himself bowed his head, grief-stricken. I saw the Prince Elphir pull a wooden casket from beneath his chair, rise slowly and go to give it to his father, both of them grinning like fools. Beside me, Princess Lothiriel was bouncing slightly in her chair.  
  
"So must it be, for you are apppointed to the White Company, the Guard of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, and you shall be its captain and dwell in Emyn Arnen in honour and in peace, and in the service of him for whom you risked all, to save him from death." Prince Imrahil rose from his throne once more, and came to the King, opening the casket. There were servants busy on the dias, setting another throne beside Eomer's, or more precisely, next to Eowyn's chair. Beregond, still kneeling, kissed the King's hand joyfully, then bowed and departed after a loving look at Faramir, who was standing with a look of puzzlement upon his face.  
  
"Sire?' he asked bemusedly, and Aragorn smiled suddenly.   
  
"My Lord Steward, get thee up here, and kneel." Faramir did so slowly, and his face was somewhat pale. Absolute silence had fallen over the hall. When Faramir had done as he was bidden, Aragorn looked down upon him with great solemnity, while he looked up with what seemed to be trepidation.  
  
"As you know, Lord Faramir, I had the good fortune to travel with and fight beside your brother Lord Boromir for a time, and found him to be both valorous and honorable. But the greatest of his traits besides his valor and honor, was his unswerving devotion to and love of Gondor, a trait which is matched in his younger brother. Had it not been for the two of you, and your stalwart defence of this realm, I would not have had a throne to return to. And you are but the latest in the long line of your House to protect and preserve Gondor. I have been King but a few days, so hopefully none will call me laggard if I only now reward you as you so richly merit." He reached into the casket and pulled out an intricately carved circlet set with beryls and crystal, holding it above Faramir's dark head.  
  
"Take thou Ithilien to be thy princedom, Faramir, thou and thine heirs, to this kingdom's end," the King intoned formally, and set the circlet upon his head.  
  
A roar of approval erupted from the Rangers, and it was answered with thunderous acclamation from the rest of the court, that only grew the louder as people further away from the dias discovered what had transpired, for Faramir had always been much beloved by the people of the City. I very much wished to leap to my feet and shout with them, and even started to get up, but remembered me in time that I was among the high folk on the dias, and sank back into my chair. Lothiriel looked at me, her eyes twinkling, and suddenly leaped to her feet, hauling me up by the arm, whereupon the two of us jumped up and down and shouted to our hearts' content. Even Prince Amrothos laid down his book, and stood up, lending his voice to the din.  
  
After a moment, Aragorn raised Faramir up and embraced him, then he was embraced in turn by his uncle and his cousin Elphir, and Lothiriel, who abandoned all dignity and flung herself upon him bodily. King Eomer arose to offer his congratulations, and Eowyn, whom he embraced and kissed quite publicly, his face having gone from pale to quite flushed, and his eyes sparkling. Aragorn said something to him quietly, and he nodded and smiled, and finally, he was allowed to make his way to his new throne and seat himself, to another roar of approval. When the tumult had died down, Aragorn finally concluded the business of his court with a public acknowledgement of the service that Eomer had given him; then, acting as his own herald, announced that his court was now over, "--pending, of course, the approval of the Ithilien Rangers!"  
  
That gained him another roar, and not a little abashed laughter, and the Hall became a milling confusion of people seeking their dinner, or gathering together in knots to discuss the day's events. I stood, uncertain exactly what I should do, or when my service started. Prince Imrahil, seeing my confusion, came over to me.  
  
"An hour after noon tomorrow, I'll send someone to help you bring your things to my house, lady. Until then, by all means, celebrate with your friends! Unless the day's events have rendered you unable to celebrate?" He looked genuinely concerned.  
  
"Oh no, my lord prince, as I told you yesterday, Prince Faramir's elevation is well-deserved, and I am very happy for him."  
  
"And your own situation?" he inquired gently. I smiled, but feared it was a somewhat sickly effort.  
  
"The King is far older and wiser than I, and as his subject, I am obligated to serve him in whatever way he deems best." Prince Imrahil winced at my evident unhappiness.  
  
"Hopefully, Aragorn's wisdom will be made manifest in time."  
  
"I am certain that it will, my liege." And I bowed to him, and departed, for I had noticed Lorend and Mablung looking for me, and it occurred to me suddenly that I did not wish to be found, that I was in fact, very tired of the City and people about me, and a campfire with Rangers about me was not much better. It also occurred to me, as I gave Lorend the slip through passageways in the Citadel that we knew equally well, but that I could travel faster having two good legs, that I was very, very tired of being a good sport about Lord Faramir, and very, very dissappointed about my captaincy, and if I remained in the company of my friends this evening, I was either going to break down in tears, or say things I would regret for the rest of my life.  
  
So I made my way through the service alleys to Lord Imrahil's house, and his stables, and my horse, whom I fed a handful of grain to, and saddled him swiftly. I then rode forth by the less-crowded back streets, down out of the City and onto the Pelennor, seeking solitude and the stars. 


	17. The Bowman

Author's Note--Warning--This chapter has an R rating, for violence and attempted rape. That's probably a little high, but I prefer to err on the side of caution. To those who have been kind enough to express to me their sorrow that this is ending--there is at least one more chapter here, and yes, I am writing another Heth story after this, if anyone's interested. Thanks to elizabeth wyeth, for technical consultation, discussion about the perils of the Pelennor, and the really, really neat Heth picture.  
  
This time, as I rode upon the Pelennor, I took the Anorien road, the one that led out the North Gate of the Rammas, and eventually, if taken far enough, passed close by my old home. Most of my previous expeditions had been farther east, out the Osgiliath road, closer to the Harlond. Fortune was fractious, and after we got out the gate, I lifted him into a canter, enjoying the cool evening air on my face. For a while, I toyed with the idea of simply riding onward, not stopping till I came to my old home, or points further North. I had my bow with me, after all, though I'd not brought a waterskin, or any other basic provisions. But my oath to the King constrained me, and it was never more than an idle fancy.  
  
I suspected that the Prince of Dol Amroth and the King had had a very interesting conversation after the picnic. It was the only thing that seemed to explain the sudden shift in my fortunes. Prince Imrahil had appeared to be quite surprised by the King's request, but one did not move in the highest political circles for all of one's life as he had, without developing some rudimentary acting ability. And as I would have been serving him, he would not have wanted me at odds with him. I cursed myself soundly for ever having confided in the man.  
  
What little I had seen of his family, I had liked--they all seemed modest and good-humored, and Faramir had always spoken most fondly of them, and held his visits to Dol Amroth among his dearest childhood memories. But I did not delude myself that I would be spending much time in their company--I was an esquire, not a fosterling. And I knew nothing of Imrahil's captains or armsmasters, the people who would have direct control over my future. The Swan Knights were held to be such an order of excellence that the City Guard were all rather envious, but I'd never spoken at length to any of them about what skills or abilities were required. Familiarity with spearwork while mounted, for certain, and I knew nothing of that, and mounted swordwork as well, and I was just beginning to learn that. Somehow I doubted I'd be getting much archery practice in. Presumably there would be foot fighting, for situations like the Black Gate, where they'd had to leave their horses behind. One thing seemed certain--if I survived the training, I'd be a much better swordswoman when I finished.  
  
But I was already longing for Ithilien--the sun-dappled glades, the little streams that chuckled over their stony beds, the way the scents of the vast variety of herbs and plants rose to your nose when your feet crushed them in passage. Henneth-Anun at dusk. The rabbits, the deer, the birds, all the animals. Though the Ephel Duath was sinister, by virtue of what lay behind the fence of its peaks, the sun on its flanks was nonetheless lovely. The only reason I'd found my stay in Minas Tirith tolerable was that I knew I'd be returning to what had become my home. Even more my home, now that I actually owned a piece of it, but instead of returning, I would be heading in the opposite direction entirely, down to the coast where there were no forests, and the seabirds flew. Two years I would have to spend there, in addition to this two months that had seemed an eternity, and my eyes prickled a little at the thought.  
  
And though initially I had doubted my right or ability to command, over time, I had accustomed myself to the idea that I would have men under me, and I had given much thought as to how I would handle certain situations as they arose, usually using Mablung or Faramir as my best examples of how I should conduct myself. I had actually commanded a squad now, twice, though they'd been City Guardsmen at Lord Hurin's request, and thought I'd not done too badly. Certainly the men had not complained, or given me any trouble. But now that I'd gotten used to the idea, and was actually looking forward to it, I had been denied the opportunity, and had been broken back to the ranks once more. This grated upon me rather more than I had expected.  
  
To be thrown in with complete strangers, too, seemed more a punishment than anything else. I had lost my entire family to the orcs, and over time, had come to feel I had a second family in the Ithilien Rangers. Now I was losing them as well. I was missing Mablung and Lorend, Damrod and Anborn, and all the rest of them already, though I'd not even left yet. And needless to say, I was going to miss Faramir horribly, bittersweet and frustrating as proximity to him was. I wondered if he'd had any knowledge of this decision, or knew that he was the reason for it.  
  
When Fortune finally stopped pulling at the bit, I slowed him to a walk, and looked about me. We were about two miles from the Gate, and there were still scattered camps to either side of me, though the greatest concentration of the military was off to the right. Many of these camps were the people who had come up for the celebration, or the vendors serving them. I knew for a fact that there were two or three families doing a brisk business hauling water up from the River for the camps.  
  
But to my left, along the base of Mindoullin, was a very well organized military camp with a rack of longbows in the center. I recognized the device of the Morthond bowmen, and saw several sitting about a central campfire, and on impulse, drew rein.  
  
"Hail the camp!" I called out, and the bowmen looked up, and one of the older ones smiled, and came over to greet me. They were very tall men, and lanky, clad in green and brown not unlike the Ithilien Rangers, and supposedly very sparing of words. But they were doughty archers, and many of them, including the Lord's two sons, had perished trying to kill the Mumakil on the field of the Pelennor.  
  
"Greetings, Ranger," he said courteously, spying my cloak and the bow. "Feruthil son of Rathan am I."  
  
"Hethlin daughter of Halaran am I," I responded, bowing from my saddle. Feruthil returned the bow.  
  
"The Mumak-slayer? You honor our camp." At my look of surprise, he chuckled. "We joined forces with the Rangers of Ithilien for the journey to the Black Gate, since we fight much alike, and talked much about the campfires in the evening. You were spoken of. Is your horse well-mannered? If so, then you would be welcome at our fire."  
  
"Aye, he's well trained." For all that I had been fleeing the company of my friends, who would be inclined to ask too many personal questions, I found I was not averse to the thought of exchanging a few war stories with some fellow archers. So I slid off of Fortune and led him into the camp, holding him upon a loose rein as I sat down upon a log that had been pulled to the fire to serve as a seat. Nods and grunts of acknowlegment greeted me, and a mug of ale was passed over. I thanked my hosts and took a drink. Fortune nudged his nose into my head, and I poured him a puddle into my hand, which he lapped up happily. Chuckles ran around the camp fire.  
  
"A well-mannered horse, indeed!" exclaimed Feruthil with a laugh. I ruefully wiped my sticky hand on my thigh.  
  
A grim-faced man with white streaks in his black hair nodded to me across the fire. "Duinhir," was all he said by way of introduction, and I stood and bowed. "My lord. My sorrow for your loss."  
  
A brief, sad, wintry smile touched his face. "Aye, they were both good lads. I have a third at home, too young to come with us, Valar be praised. Mayhap now he'll have a chance to grow in peace."  
  
"I certainly hope so." At his somewhat impatient indication that I should sit back down, I did. "I am somewhat surprised to find your people still here, my lord."  
  
"If you'd come two days hence, you wouldn't have. We wait only upon a couple of our wounded who needed to rest before they could make the walk back home. But come, tell us some tales of Ithilien. Tell me something of Mablung, something that I may hold over his head when next we meet." I laughed and began a tale that would more than meet his requirements. Since Mablung probably would not find out about this before I left for the next two years, and it looked as if I would be a much better fighter when we did meet again, I figured I was probably safe enough. Payback for the whole Elrohir business.  
  
  
I spent a couple of pleasant hours at the Morthond camp, swapping tales, and the moon was well risen when I finally told them farewell. Lord Duinhir walked me to the entrance of the camp.  
  
"Do you go back up this road, Hethlin?" he asked me.  
  
"I had thought to cut to the right across the Pelennor, and then come back up the Osgiliath road. It's a pretty night for a ride." Duinhir frowned.  
  
"Hear the music over there?" he asked. I listened for a moment, and caught a drift of it, pipes and some drums, off to the right. I nodded. "There's a caravan over there, up from Pelargir. Been here about a week. Sailors are their usual prey, I gather. Games of chance, strong drink........women. Unsavory folk. See that you ride around." I promised that I would.   
  
"Should you come to Morthond, you may be sure of a welcome at our hearths."  
  
"And you, should you come to Ithilien, my lord." We parted company most amicably, and I continued my ride under the stars. I let Fortune amble along on a loose rein, lost in my own thoughts for a while, until we turned off the road. And I was careful then, mindful of Lord Duinhir's warning, to give the caravan a wide berth, though I could make it out in the distance, for they had a great bonfire going. More caution in general was called for here, for there were still earthworks and trenches on this section of the field that had not been filled in yet. The ground was so trappy that I was beginning to regret my decision to come this way, and was thinking of turning back, when Fortune suddenly started to limp on his left forefoot. He'd not hit a hole, so I had to assume he'd picked up a stone or some other foreign object. Cursing quietly, I pulled up immediately and dismounted, lifting the hoof and feeling the sole with my fingers, trying to find the offending item, and hoping that it was a stone, and not something sharp and pointed.  
  
Fortune was as lucky as his name, and I had just pulled my dagger and dug the stone out of his hoof when I heard something. We were halted close to one of the trenches, and there were voices coming from down in the bottom of it.  
  
"What did ya want to go and hit him that hard for? Now what're we gonna do?"  
  
"Ahh, ya worry too much! Didn't mean to, but it's easily fixed." There was a splashing sound. "Drank too much, wandered off the wrong direction in the dark, fell in the hole and busted his skull. Happens all the time."  
  
Well, well, this was certainly interesting. It looked as though I'd happened upon some foul play. I carefully set Fortune's foot down, sheathed my dagger, straightened, and pulled Elrohir's bow down off my shoulder. I was stringing it when Fortune turned his head and shifted a little, I heard a tiny rustle behind me and turned--and something slammed into the left side of my head with brutal force. There was an explosion of light behind my eyes, I felt myself falling, and all went dark.  
  
"--some lordling or other, swanning around up here. Good looking horse." The voice was up above me somewhere. "I'll take 'im back to the caravan."  
  
"Best see Tria paints 'im up good," another voice came from quite close by, one of the original ones I'd heard.  
  
"His own mammy won't recognize him by the time she's done," said a third voice, which came with the sound of scrambling footsteps as the owner descended into the trench. "Now you just keep your hands off that swag. Hran and I get first dibs on that--he'd have got the drop on you, he would, had it not been for us."  
  
"Well, we was the bait!" complained a fourth voice, the other original one, only to be answered by a derisive laugh from the third voice.  
  
"Don't even act like you meant to do this, Cy! First you bash the Guardsman so hard he dies, then you let this one sneak up on you. You're lucky I don't take your whole share."  
  
During the time I'd been unconscious, I'd been thrown or fallen down into the trench. I suspected thrown--I'd not been that close to the edge. And I didn't think I'd been out long at all. Aside from the agony in my head, I wasn't in pain anywhere that I could feel, but I didn't seem to be able to move. I hoped I'd not broken my back in the fall. Enough wit remained with me to realize that I didn't want them knowing I'd awakened. So I barely cracked my eyelids, or eyelid--the left one was gummed shut with blood. But I could see nothing, except for the faint glow of a shuttered lantern off to one side, which I was careful not to look at directly, so I could keep what little night vision I had. I could hear footsteps approaching, though, and fought to keep my breathing even and quiet. Someone knelt beside me.  
  
"Still breathing, this one is." The third voice, the one in authority. Probably the most dangerous one. "If he doesn't go in a moment  
or two, I'll give him another one. Make it look like they had a fight or something." I felt a hand grasp the Haradrim necklace, and give it a sharp tug. The tug jerked my neck and made pain flare anew in my head, and I was barely able to remain limp and keep from crying out. The hook tore into the back of my neck, then gave way, and third voice examined his booty in the dim light.  
  
"Nice. Wonder who this is. Nice horse, nice necklace--did you get a look at the bow?" I could feel him lean over me for a closer look, then start suddenly. A hand stroked down over my throat, then over my chest hard. It was Elrohir's healing that saved my life in that moment, and during what came after, for thanks to it, I was just able to suppress the panic that would have had me shrieking and revealing myself far too soon.  
  
"Hey, this one's a woman," third voice exclaimed.  
  
"Naw, can't be," first voice replied. Third voice gripped my tunic and the neck of the shirt beneath in his two hands, and gave a mighty yank. The cloth gave way, and I felt his hand touch the flesh beneath. It was all I could do not to turn my head and vomit, but I had to remain still. I needed more time to recover.  
  
"Aye, definitely a woman. The gods are smiling on us tonight!"  
  
"Should we try to keep 'er, take 'er back with us to the caravan?" first voice asked.  
  
"Nay. Someone'd be looking for her," said third voice. "We'll have our fun, then make it look like the Guardsman did it. Everything'll work out fine."  
  
"Well, don't bash 'er yet, then!" whined Cy. Third voice laughed.  
  
"Since when do you care if they're warm or not, Cy? I took her down, so I get first dibs."   
  
I felt, rather than saw third voice loom over me, and waited a moment longer so I knew where his hands were. He was leaning on his left hand, but it was above my shoulder, so it would not impede my arm. When he slid his right into my shirt once more, I made my move, and found to my relief, that I was able to do so. My right hand grasped the hilt of my dagger, drew it and drove it into his body right beneath the sternum. Not as swiftly as I would have wished, or with as much force as I would have liked, but it sufficed. He died without even knowing what had happened to him, and sagged onto me with a final sigh. I felt warmth begin to seep into the front of my tunic.  
  
"So Luhan, how is she?" first voice asked. "Great," I grunted softly, hoping it would pass. I was busy pulling my dagger from Luhan's chest, and shoving it between our two bodies to my left hand, after which my right drew my sword. Then I waited.  
  
Curiosity, or impatience drew first voice over eventually. Perhaps he'd noticed the lack of movement. Cy was right behind him.  
  
"Luhan, if you're done, I want my turn. Whatd'ya do, fall asleep?" He bent over Luhan to touch his shoulder, and I yanked my arm from beneath the body and touched his chest rather deeply with my sword instead. A second body fell upon me, and I made a noise halfway between a growl and a groan, and shoved myself out from beneath them with a great effort.  
  
Cy I had figured as the weakest of the three thieves, and it turned out I was right. He had no weapons with any reach against my long blade, just a short club effective against the drunk and unsuspecting, so he drew a throwing blade from his boot, and tossed. I managed to jerk to one side just enough that it sank into my upper left arm instead of my chest. There was no way he could have anticipated what happened next, as he turned to run, for he did not know of three years of evenings spent in Henneth-Anun or elsewhere, Rangers pegging daggers into log ends, both for amusement and to keep the aiming eye keen.  
  
I drove my sword into the earth of the trench, plucked the dagger from my arm, and tossed it back. It sank into the back of his knee, and as he frantically tried to crawl away from me, I picked up my blade, staggered over to him and drove my sword into his spine. He sank to the ground dead beside the body of the man he'd killed.  
  
I stood victorious on the field of battle amidst my dead enemies, legs shaking, and head spinning. After a moment, I stumbled back over to where Luhan lay, and dropped to my knees slowly. Rolling first voice's body off of him, I found his belt pouch, and reaching within, found my necklace, which I placed in my own pouch. I took only one thing that was not my own--he had a cloak brooch that I used the fasten the slashed edges of my tunic together in a more modest fashion. I then leaned over and retched up onto the ground the ale I'd drunk earlier, thanking the Valar both for my deliverance, and for the fact that I'd not eaten dinner.  
  
Luhan had brought my bow with him into the trench, and I retrieved it, bending over carefully, for such motions made my head spin. Then I made my way over to the Guardsman they'd killed.  
  
He'd been my age, or perhaps even a little younger. Comely enough, but for a newly healed scar on his chin. His eyes were open in surprise. I knelt beside him carefully, and closed them, arranged his limbs more appropriately, and wrapped his cloak about him before he stiffened. Then I said a prayer over him, and left, wondering if I was going to obtain more weregild for him before the night was out. For a rage was building in me the like of which I'd never felt before, and in the back of my rather confused mind, the orc voices and orc laughter mocked me, stronger than they'd been in three years. I stopped to sheathe my sword and dagger, and to finish stringing my bow, which required an effort that almost made me pass out--Elrohir pulled a stronger draw than I did, and my bow arm was injured, though I deemed I could use it, if I didn't hold a draw long. Accuracy might be an issue. I then trudged towards the lights and music of the caravan, to get my horse back.  
  
  
It was a cheerful enough sight, if you were looking at it from a perspective other than mine. A circle of brightly painted, covered wains enclosed a large central area wherein the bonfire and many torches burned, lighting tables that held cards and other games of chance. A long trestle set up on one side served as a bar, and the wagons served as--well, from the procession of soldiers in and out of them, it was apparent what they served as. The odd scandalously clad woman lounged about the gaming tables, either waiting for customers or urging a current client to spend more of his pay. A trio of musicians played in the corner, adding to the festive air.  
  
A gap between two of the wagons served as a door, and it was towards this that I made my way, my bow nocked. As I came between them, I moved to the left, and put my back against the side of the left-hand wagon, which was covered in wood instead of canvas, careful to keep a distance away from the one small window.  
  
"Men of the Tower of Guard!" I called, but the music and talk were loud, and only those close to me heard me. So I cleared my throat, and though it made my head feel as if it were going to split apart, I yelled. "MEN OF THE TOWER OF GUARD!"  
  
The music ceased. Every eye was fastened upon me, soldier and caravaner alike. A murmur arose as they looked upon me, and when I looked down, I could see why. I looked like I'd been in a slaughterhouse. A rather large individual came out from behind the bar and started towards me with a cudgel, and I drew low and fast and put an arrow into the ground in front of his feet, reassured that I was able to do so, though it hurt my arm horribly. He backed up a couple of paces.  
  
"Are you missing one of your number? A younger man, with a newly healed scar on his chin?" I called out. There was some muttering, and someone from the far side of the enclosure called back, "That's Harthel. He's with my regiment. Why?"  
  
"Because he's dead in a ditch back of the caravan here. Two of these folk slew and robbed him. A third joined with them to try to rape and rob and slay me. They're all three of them dead now. Which you would do well to remember," I called to cudgel man.  
  
There was another low and dangerous muttering amongst the City guardsmen. There were soldiers of other sorts there as well, mostly from the Outland regiments, and they were a rougher looking crew, and looked peevish at having their evening's entertainment interrupted.  
  
"Who are you, to be spoilin' our fun?" shouted one of the Outlanders. It occured to me that I might be over my head here, but I was careful not to let my dismay show.  
  
"She's my captain. Hethlin Blackbow, of the North Ithilien," came a familiar voice, and Lorend stepped out of one of the caravans, still in his court clothes, hitching up hhis breeches, and buckling his sword on. I had never been so glad to see anyone in my life, and forgave him the reason he was here, any trespasses he had done in the past or any he would ever do far into the future. For, appropriately enough in this place, he had gambled that none here knew that I was not in fact a captain, and his ready assertion lent me credibility. I saw a City guardsman at one of the central tables, stir and stand up, and recognized him as one of Lord Hurin's men. He'd been at court that day, and was certainly in the know, but after a moment, he said, "I'll vouch for the lady--she's worked for Lord Hurin this last month, preparing for the crowning."  
  
That was that. The muttering subsided, and another Guardsman asked, "What do you want us to do, Captain?"  
  
Without unknocking my bow, I replied, "I want everyone in the wagons out of the wagons, and I want them here in the middle of the enclosure under guard, as well as anyone else associated with this enterprise." I looked at the Outlanders sternly. "You've got two choices--you can stay and help, or you can leave now, but this establishment is officially closed." There was much grumbling, but slowly they all got up and left, save for a couple from Lossarnach.  
  
"We're missing one of our men too," one of them said grimly, "The captain thought he'd deserted."  
  
"I don't know if these people had anything to do with that or not," I warned them, but the one who'd spoken shook his head.  
  
"Doesn't matter, captain. This is just not right. We fought too hard against the Enemy to come home and be preyed upon by our own kind." His friend nodded assent, and they went to help with the arrests. For a moment, it looked as though the caravaners might resist, but they were outnumbered by the guardsmen two to one, and soon saw the futility of such an action, particularly since their former customers were in a very ugly mood. That did not stop them from complaining and protesting, however, and the loudest was a short, round, swarthy individual, clad in rather floridly colored clothing of a southern cut.  
  
"You have no authority to treat me this way!" he snarled at me, after he'd been brought before me by a couple of the guardsmen. I smiled toothily, and that seemed to unnerve him a bit for some reason. I wondered in passing exactly what my face looked like.  
  
"As a matter of fact, I do," I lied glibly. "Are you the leader of this caravan?" When he nodded his assent, somewhat hesitantly, I thought, I smiled even more broadly, slipped my arrow back into the quiver, shouldered my bow, drew my sword, and held it to his throat. He swallowed convulsively, and a red drop of blood trailed slowly down his neck. Lorend was looking at me uneasily, and he had cause, for the voices were roaring in my brain, but I held control of myself, and simply said, "Then you're just the person I want to talk to. You have my horse, and I want him back."  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about!"  
  
"Wrong answer." I pressed the sword harder against his throat, and he got an interesting pasty grey color. "Warhorse, dark bay, brand new saddle with a green blanket. You seen him?"  
  
"Your excellency would certainly be welcome to look," the man croaked carefully. "He might have wandered in, attracted by our caravan horses."  
  
"Might he have? How fortuitous. Lorend, go and get him. Check if he's sound, and bring him back here."  
  
"Aye, captain." He left me with some hesitation, and the caravan owner did not look happy to see him go. I continued to hold my sword to his throat and smile in what I felt was a pleasant fashion, though he seemed not to find it so.  
  
"You parasite," I said conversationally. "Were it not that my service with Lord Hurin has given me an appreciation for the proper enforcement of the King's writ, I'd gut you where you stand. But please do not make the mistake of thinking my respect for the law will keep me from killing any of your people who give me the least bit of trouble."  
  
"Oh no, your excellency, I don't doubt it in the least!" He swallowed again, and carefully raised his voice. "All of you--do what the soldiers say! No trouble now!"  
  
In a most timely manner, a Ranger-like whistle sounded outside the caravan about then, followed by a rather laconic voice asking, "Do you need any help, Hethlin?" And Duinhir of Morthond, accompanied by six of his men, longbows strung and nocked, sauntered in.  
  
"Heard the music stop, and some kind of disturbance, so we thought we'd come over and see what was going on." He looked me up and down, and frowned. "I thought I told you to stay away from these folks."  
  
"I did, my lord. I was passing them by, way out beyond the second line of earthworks out there when I came across two of them robbing the body of a Guardsman they'd killed. Another one joined them, and they jumped me and took my horse. Things went downhill from there." He nodded his understanding.  
  
"Killed a Guardsman, did they? Bad business. Scum." He gave the caravan owner a penetrating look. The caravan owner cringed.  
  
"What do you want to do about them now? I've got two hundred archers around this encampment. With fire arrows." And he smiled a most unpleasant smile. I lowered my blade, and the caravan owner rubbed his throat and looked at the two of us in terror. "I can guarantee that no one gets in or out without my leave, if that will help."  
  
"That is just what is needed here, my lord. By chance, one of the Rangers was here, he's a good rider, and I'm going to send him up to the Gate to tell the City Guard what's going on. After they get here, you can go to your well-deserved rest."  
  
"Oh, we may linger a bit. Things have been a bit slow in camp." And he smiled another of his chilly smiles, cold as the source of the Blackroot itself. Lorend came to the entrance of the camp with Fortune, looking a bit shaken.  
  
"Whew! Almost got jumped by the bowmen out there--they thought I was trying to steal a horse and get away."   
  
"Sorry, Lorend--I didn't know they were there. This is Lord Duinhir of Morthond. Lord Duinhir, Lorend of Lossarnach. He's one of Mablung's lieutenants." Duinhir nodded, then paused for a moment, then nodded again.  
  
"Oh yes. That one." Lorend looked as if he wanted to ask what Duinhir meant by that, but found the Lord too intimidating to do so.  
  
"Lorend, is Fortune all right?" He nodded assent. "Then get on him, and ride to the Gate. Tell whoever is watch captain what's going on and get some Guardsmen down here."  
  
"Heth, let's both ride up there. You need a healer." He gave me a concerned look, but I shook my head very slowly and carefully. The pain was reaching a truly exquisite level, I was afraid I might throw up again, and wouldn't that be an appropriate display of command ability?  
  
"He'll go faster with you alone, than double. And he's had a hard night."  
  
"And you haven't?"  
  
I took a step closer to him. "Lorend," I murmured quietly to him so Duinhir could not hear. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I really don't want anyone touching me right now."  
  
Lorend thought about this for a moment, then his face hardened, and he nodded grimly. "All right, Heth, have it your way. I'll be back as soon as I can."  
  
"Take him up to Dol Amroth, and get a courier horse if you're coming back." He nodded assent, and swung up. I saw a group of bowmen in the outer darkness part for him as he turned Fortune and set out for the Road. Sometime later, a clatter of galloping hooves announced he'd reached it. I searched the crowd, looking for Lord Hurin's man, which took a moment, for my vision would blur every now and again, and when I found him, motioned him over.  
  
"Lord Duinhir, have you got control of things here?" Duinhir nodded. "My thanks for your aid, my lord." He made a noncommital grunt, and I turned to the guardsman.  
  
"Get a couple of your friends, and I'll take you to where I found Harthel. I don't think we should move anything till the other Guardsmen come, but I thought you might want to set a watch over him."  
  
He nodded. "Aye, lady, that is well thought of. There might be other.....scavengers about." The man from Harthel's regiment joined us, as well as a couple of his friends, and we took some torches, and I led the way out back to where I'd been waylaid. One of the bowmen joined us as we passed through their line. I stumbled once or twice over the uneven ground, my perception of which was made worse by the flickering torchlight, but when one of them reached out to steady me, I pulled away and kept going without assistance. When we came to the trench, Lord Hurin's man, who said his name was Morenal, went down with the man from Harthel's regiment to examine the body.  
  
"Aye, it's Harthel," his companion in arms said sadly. "All the way to the Black Gate and back, and this happens to him. Were you the one that set him straight, lady?"  
  
"Aye."  
  
"Well, I thank you for that. I know his family, so I'll take word back to them. Who was it killed him?"  
  
"Those two there." I indicated Cy and first voice. "At least they were the ones with him down there talking about it. To be fair about it, I don't think they intended to do it--they just wanted to rob him, but they hit him too hard. My horse picked up a stone in his foot, and I'd stopped to dig it out when I heard them. Then that fellow--" and I indicated Luhan, "Got the drop on me. There was a fourth, too, a man named Hran. He took my horse back to the camp while the others dealt with me."  
  
"Didn't hit you hard enough, from the looks of things," Morenal said, nudging Luhan's body with his foot.  
  
"By the Valar's grace, no. Then, when he went to finish the job, for they needed to kill me because I knew about them, he discovered I was a woman. They were going to have quite the party." My voice was very dry, and the Morthond bowman chuckled.  
  
"They'd have been safer kissing a mountain cat by the looks of it!"  
  
"Perhaps. If you don't need me any more, gentlemen, I'm going to head on back to the City." The Guardsmen and the bowman all looked at one another.  
  
"Captain, perhaps you should wait till the Guardsmen get here," Moranel suggested gently. "You took quite a blow on the head--there's blood all down your face. You could get a ride back up with someone. It's more than two miles to the Gate."  
  
"I want my bed, and I don't want to ride--it'll make me dizzy. I'll manage." I was suddenly possessed of an absolutely mulish desire to get to my room and lock myself in. Part of it at least was that I was certain if I stopped moving, I was going to go down, and in my current state of mind, I didn't want to do that in the presence of strangers, even strangers I thought were reasonably trustworthy.  
  
The men all exchanged meaningful glances once more, then the bowman said, "I'll go with her. The Lord said to keep an eye out for her. And it may not be such a bad idea at that--I hear tell it's not too good to sleep right after you get bashed on the head. By the time we get up to the City, it'll probably be safe for her to rest."  
  
"That's a long walk for you, bowman," one of the other Guardsmen noted. The bowman just laughed. "Five miles? We call that a morning stroll in Morthond Vale." With no further ado, he started to stride off towards the road. I waved to the Guardsmen, and followed.  
  
  
The Morthond bowman was a considerate man, and shortened his long stride to accomodate me. He warned me of potential obstacles in my path, but did not try to take my arm, or touch me in any way, having apparently realized from our trip to the trench that I was not happy with such attempts. He told me his name was Tedryn, and at my request, spoke to me at some length about his family and his home. His descriptions of the tree-shadowed upland glens of Morthond were simple but lyrical, and they soothed me somewhat. We were a little way up the Road before he asked me in my turn about Ithilien, but that was harder for me--I would start to describe something, lose my train of thought and trail off into silence until he asked another question. But he was patient, and persistent, and he kept me going. I do not believe I could have gotten anywhere as far alone as I did in his company.  
  
We were perhaps a mile up the road when a troop of mounted Guardsmen thundered past, and almost to the Gate when we encountered Lorend, riding one courier mount and leading another.  
  
"Heth! Are you out of your mind? No, wait-- I suppose you must be." He glared at Tedryn, who shrugged.  
  
"Said she wanted to walk back. Didn't want her walking alone. Says riding makes her dizzy." Lorend nodded, somewhat mollified.  
  
"Well, thank you for not leaving her alone. And thank your lord for all his help."  
  
Tedryn grinned. "No thanks necessary, Ranger--it was getting a little boring, sitting around all the time. We'd fletched all the arrows we could fletch." He bowed, and departed back the way he had come. Lorend looked at me where I stood swaying a little in the Road and grimaced.  
  
"Heth, I don't care if it makes you dizzy or not, you're going to get on this horse. I'll hold the reins, and all you have to do is hold on. If you start to fall off, I'll catch you. There's no way you can manage the uphill climb in the shape you're in. So you can either climb up on that horse by yourself, or let me help you without killing me. What's it going to be?"  
  
"I'll climb up, Lorend," I whispered. "I'll try to ride." I moved slowly over to the courier horse, put my foot in the stirrup, hauled myself up mostly with my right arm, and when I'd seated myself in the saddle, bent over and dry heaved down the horse's neck. He was not thrilled with this development, so it was just as well Lorend had a hold of him.  
  
"Oh, Heth. You just hold on and I'll get you home. You got a good hold now?"  
  
"Aye, Lorend." I twined my fingers into the mane before me like the veriest beginner, and held on. The clops of hooves on the pavement rang loud in my ears, and the torchlight and lamps of various establishments blurred in my vision. The everlasting celebration that had been in effect since Elessar's crowning was still going on, though since it was the wee hours of the morning, it was as subdued as it got. Still, there were many more people on the street than would have been usual for this time of night, and in the lower levels, we had to backtrack from time to time to make our way around them.  
  
Things cleared out when we made the upper levels, as they always did, and Lorend started to take me to the Houses of Healing when we reached the second circle, but I stopped him.  
  
"Please, Lorend, just take me to my room."  
  
"Heth, you really need a healer." He started the horses forward again, and I pulled my feet from the stirrups and slid down. I dry-heaved once more when I hit the ground.  
  
"Heth, what do you think you are doing?"  
  
"Going to my room. I want my room. I promise you I'll see a healer in the morning when my head is clearer." I began to stagger towards the Citadel. Cursing, he rode after me.  
  
"That is the silliest thing I ever heard! You need a healer because your head isn't clear!"  
  
I continued on my way. "Lorend, if one of those healers touches me, I'm going to hurt him. If you touch me, I'll hurt you. All I can hear is orcs right now, understand? Maybe after I get some sleep, I'll be better. I'll try, at any rate." He gave it up for a lost cause, and followed me, cursing in a continuous litany under his breath. When we reached the courier stable I waited as he kicked the night groom awake, and gave him the horses. Then we continued into the Citadel courtyard. The courtiers had mostly turned in for the night, but there were a few people out there. Lorend steered us well around them, and made for the kitchen entrance.  
  
When we came in the door, and the night staff saw me, there were shrieks, and the sound of breaking crockery. Lorend wasted no sympathy on them.  
  
"That kettle on the stove over there hot?" A kitchen maid nodded. "Put a towel around the handle and give it to me. And give me some more clean towels, and any strong drink you've got lying about." The requested items appeared as if by magic, and we went swiftly on our way, which was, I think, the point of all the cooperation. When we came to my room, Lorend asked me for my key, and opened the door with some difficulty, the kitchen things tucked awkwardly under his arm, and the tea kettle in his other hand.  
  
"Where's the dratted lamp?"  
  
"On the mantle." He moved to the fireplace, set his kitchen spoils down, poked the fire up, lit a spill and then the lamp. Then he carried the kitchen things over to the washstand, and poured the hot water into the basin, and some of the cold from the pitcher. I shut the door behind us, and came over to the washstand.  
  
"Here you go, Heth. Hot but not too hot. You want me to help?" His expression showed he already knew the answer to that one, but was asking it for politeness' sake.  
  
"No."  
  
"Where are you hurt?"  
  
"My head and my arm. Took a throwing knife in the arm." I picked up a towel with trembling hands, dipped it in the water, and began patting at the side of my face. It was a white towel, and it came away reddened.  
  
"How bad?"  
  
"Deep, but not bad. You saw me shoot." I continued to dab at myself rather ineffectively, and bloody water dripped down my neck. I saw Lorend start to reach for me, and change his mind at the look on my face.   
  
"Heth, did they rape you?" he asked after a while, very quietly.  
  
"No, but they were going to. Rape me, and kill me. I had to let the first one get close, right on top of me, so I could get a blow in on him. The other two were easier." I gave up on the head wound, shoved the sleeve far enough up my arm to clean the arm wound, dabbed at it a bit with the hot water and the liquor, which made me wince, and gave up on it as well.  
  
"That's enough for now. I'll do a better job in the morning." I looked at the bed for a moment.  
  
"Heth, you need to get those bloody clothes off."  
  
"I'll do that in the morning too."  
  
"Heth, it is the morning."  
  
"You know what I mean......late morning." I decided that I did not want to mess up my bed after all, so I pulled the blanket off of it, drew my cloak around me, draped the blanket over that, and drew it around me, then sat down with my back to the wall beside the bed.  
  
"For Valar's sake, sleep in the bed at least!"  
  
"Don't want to mess the sheets up. I'll be fine. Throw a log on the fire, and you can leave."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere. I'll sleep on the bed if you won't."  
  
"Whatever you like, Lorend--just don't come near me while I'm asleep. I won't be responsible for what happens."  
  
I couldn't get comfortable with my sword dragging against the wall, so I shifted the belt around till it lay across my lap, settled back against the wall and finally let the darkness take me. The last thing I heard was Lorend settling, not onto the bed but dragging my one hard wooden chair over to the fire, and muttering, " I can't deal with this." 


	18. The Princes

Author's Note--No, this is not the last chapter (this thing just keeps growing and growing...), but it's been the hardest to write. I've started it three times, and thrown away two of them, which is why there's been such a delay, and it's the extremely wee hours of the morning as I finally finish it, so I hope you'll excuse any grammatical or spelling mistakes, as well as any unevenness of tone.  
  
julifolo--Here you go. It's not the last chapter, but Faramir is in it, majorly.   
  
Altariel--Now you have to write it.   
  
  
Dawn was always the signal that the worst was coming, for after a night of hard marching, the first signs of light would send my captors scurrying for the shelter of deep forest cover, or an overhang or cave. There they would eat whatever passed for rations, laughing and joking and quarreling amongst themselves in their guttural voices, and when they were done, I became their main amusement. They never took their pleasure of me without a battle first, for my pride would not let me ever submit to them, though as the journey wore on, and I became weaker and weaker, the resistance became more token than effective. Still, a few gouged eyes, scratched faces and bruises taught them not to come to me one at a time--there were always a number of them, and they would hold me each in turn while the others had their fun.  
  
So it was this time. I heard mocking orcish laughter, felt hands slip under the blanket I huddled under, and seize my wrists in a strong grasp, then suddenly a weight pinned my legs. I shrieked, and bucked, and tried to dislodge my captor, who was grunting to a companion of his. I felt my right hand brush the hilt of a weapon--a weapon!--but it was snatched away, and yanked above my head, along with the left. The orc who was holding me shouted something to his fellow, and the other shouted something back. Then he tried to shift his grip, so that he could hold my wrists in one hand, but when he did so, he lost hold of the left, which I promptly balled into a fist and planted into his right eye. He cried out, and lost his balance, and we both slid sideways onto the ground. My left shoulder and head hit, and there was dull pain from the first, and shooting, excruciating pain from the second. It dazed me for a moment, and that gave him all the time he needed to regain my other hand, and consolidate his hold on me. I felt the other orc fumble at my waist, and I began to shriek and struggle once more, but the first orc sat upon my legs, and I was pinned completely. At that point, my pride abandoned me, and the fear and helplessness came crashing in, and I started to weep and to beg to be left alone.  
  
Strangely enough, the orc did nothing further to me, he simply continued to hold me down, and after a while the mocking voices of his company faded away, and were replaced by a single voice, a human voice speaking very quietly and insistently.  
  
"Hethlin, wake up. Open your eyes and look at me. Heth, it's just me, the orcs are gone, wake up a little so I can have a look at you. It's all right, Heth, it's just a bad dream. There are no more orcs. Stop crying, Heth. You're safe, you have nothing to worry about." Over and over, these words, and variations on the same theme, until my struggles finally ceased.  
  
The authoritative calm of the voice penetrated first, then the meaning of the words, and finally, the identity of the speaker.  
  
"Captain?" I croaked hoarsely.  
  
"That's right, Heth. It's just me." I opened my eyes blearily, the left one still crusted with dried blood, and saw that it was indeed Faramir sitting atop me, a state of being I'd often dreamed of, if not under quite these circumstances. Despite the calm of his voice, he was looking a bit flushed and breathless, and his right eye was swelling shut.  
  
"There's my girl. That's better. Listen, Lorend and I are going to lift you up and put you on the bed, all right? I'm going to send for a healer, and we need to have you where he can look at you."  
  
"Ruin the sheets," I whispered. He leaned closer.   
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"I'll ruin the sheets." This time it was more of a mutter. Faramir shook his head.  
  
"I'm not worried about that, so don't you be. The sheets are not important, getting you fixed up is. Can I let you go now?"  
  
"Aye, my lord." I was careful not to nod, since any motion of my head made me feel sick. He smiled, slowly released my hands, and gently raised himself off of me. Motioning to Lorend to take my feet, he moved around to my head, and carefully slid his arms beneath my shoulders, cradling my head against his chest. I groaned as the two of them lifted me, and carried me over to the bed, but I had to admit the mattress and pillow felt ever so good as they lowered me down.  
  
"There, that has to feel better than the cold floor. Lorend, go to the Houses of Healing, and get a healer back here immediately. On your way out, ask the kitchen to send up some honey and tea. After you're done at the Houses, go on and get some sleep."  
  
"Aye, Captain. Or my lord Steward. Or my lord Prince, or whatever we're calling you today."  
  
"If you don't talk less, and walk more, you'll be calling me Morgoth." Lorend took the hint, and scurried.  
  
"Oh, and Lorend?" He paused in his headlong flight.  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"Thank you for watching over her last night."  
  
"She's a Ranger. What else would I do?" And he resumed scurrying.  
  
Faramir sat carefully on the bed beside me, leaned over and looked into my eyes. The worry line appeared, though his expression did not change from one of gentle concern. He placed a hand upon my forehead and it deepened. He examined the rip down the front of my tunic, and it assumed chasm-like proportions.  
  
"Heth, did they rape you?" he asked quietly.   
  
"Nay. Killed them instead."  
  
"Lorend said there were three of them. Is that right?"  
  
"Aye. All dead now."  
  
"Valar, Heth, what happened?" He went to the washstand, found Lorend's kettle from the night before, took it to the fire, poked the fire up and set the kettle on the hook.  
  
"It's hard to talk, sir." Dampening a towel in the wash basin, he brought it over, and sat down beside me again.  
  
"Do the best you can. The basic facts will do."  
  
"After the court, I went riding out the Anorien road. I wanted to think about things."  
  
"I imagine that you did," Faramir said quietly, dabbing carefully at my temple with the towel.  
  
I then gave him an extremely brief and emotionless description of the evening's events. He said nothing during my explanation, bringing the washbasin over to the bedside, and continuing to wash my face, but his mouth had the tight-held look it got when he was very angry, but not wanting to show it. After a bit, he went and got some of the warmed water from the kettle, and continued to clean me up. He was very gentle and careful, and I could tell he was doing a much better job than I had the night before, and got only a little bit of water on the pillow.  
  
"I think this is going to need a stitch or two, but it's in your hair, so it won't show," he said after a while. I groaned a little, and he looked alarmed.   
  
"Did I hurt you?"  
  
"No, my lord, but I was just thinking. Stitches mean they'll have to cut a bit of my hair, and while it's growing out, I'll have a piece sticking out at the side as well as the back. If this keeps up I'm going to look like a hedgehog."  
  
Faramir chuckled. "If that's the biggest worry on your mind, Heth, then I feel much better about you."  
  
"It's not the biggest worry, it's just the only one I can do something about." He sobered immediately, and indicated my arm.  
  
"I'm going to have a look at your arm now. These clothes are ruined, so I'm just going to slit the sleeves, if you don't mind."  
  
"Don't care." He reached for my sword belt, and pulled the dagger, then used it to slice through the fabric, eyebrows raised at the ease with which he did so.  
  
"You keep quite an edge on that, don't you?" I smiled a little.  
  
"Father always said, take care of your weapons, and they'll take care of you."  
  
"Indeed." I felt the cold air on my arm and shivered a little. Faramir looked at the wound, and frowned.  
  
"Was there anything on the blade? This is weeping and swollen already, and you're fevered. Some of these southerners dip their blades in dung tea. Not poison, but gets the job done just the same."  
  
"I don't know. It was too dark. I just pulled it out and threw it right back, like I told you."  
  
"Oh, Heth, I would have spared you this, if I could have."  
  
"I don't see how you could have. I'm the one decided to ride out."   
  
"Ah, but I'm the Steward, and I should have known this sort of thing was going on."  
  
He stroked the right side of my face gently for a moment, and I shivered again.  
  
"Would you like the blanket?"  
  
What I would have preferred was that he get on the bed and hold me and warm me that way, but I agreed that yes, the blanket would be appreciated, and he got it and tucked it around me. Then he threw more wood on the fire, and poked it up till it was roaring away merrily.  
  
"There, it's a rather clammy day outside, but that should warm the place in a little bit. And the healer ought to be here soon. I'm afraid he's going to want to clean and probe that wound, Heth."  
  
"It's all right, my lord. Better than losing the arm." He grimaced at that possibility. I looked at his face and suddenly realized something.  
  
"I hit you!" He smiled.  
  
"You more than hit me, you smote me with great force! I fear I'm going to have a black eye to match yours."  
  
"Do I have a black eye?"  
  
"Oh, yes. And getting blacker by the minute." I tried to remember about the details of my awakening, and blanched as I realized something.  
  
"I almost got my hand on my sword!"  
  
"Yes, you did," he agreed calmly.  
  
"I could have killed you!"  
  
"Possibly. You have become a much more dangerous person since first we met." He seemed more amused than anything else.  
  
I reached up, and touched his temple, and my eyes filled up quite suddenly. "I could have hurt you, or killed you! You should have just left me where I lay, my lord! That was a foolish thing to do!" His hand covered mine, and patted it soothingly.  
  
"I'm all right, Heth. And there was no way I was going to leave you injured on that floor. Beside, it wasn't quite that foregone a conclusion--I had leverage on you. Though the next time I ask Lorend to go for your blades, and he backs off instead, I'm going to have him pulled apart by Mumaks, or something equally creative. By the Valar, how did you get him so scared of you? Could you share your secret with me? I can see situations where it might come in handy." His easy banter calmed me, as he probably intended that it should. I hiccoughed a couple of times, and stopped crying.  
  
"If I knew how I'd done it, I'd sell the secret. Probably get enough to actually do something with that land the King gave me."   
  
Faramir became very still of a sudden. After a moment, he asked, "Heth, would you like me to speak to the King on your behalf?"  
  
"About what?"  
  
"North Ithilien, what else? I could insist."  
  
"Who has it now?"  
  
"Damrod, with Anborn as his lieutenant. Lorend's going to Mablung."  
  
"They're all good men, my lord. Leave it lie. I would not have you anger the King because of me."  
  
"But Heth--"  
  
"Leave it, I said! I am already sworn to your uncle. It is done!" Faramir looked shocked at my vehemence, and I winced, for it hurt my head to speak so loudly.  
  
"Heth," he said carefully, "If you do not wish it, I will not speak. But your future may not be as grim as you think. My uncle is the best of men."  
  
"I think your uncle is the reason I'm not in Ithilien!" He started, and then gave me a somewhat grim look.  
  
"What do you mean by that, Heth?"  
  
"The other day, when he gave me Fortune, we went on a picnic. He's a very....likable man. Easy to talk to, for all his rank. I told him things, and the very next day, I found myself shipped off to Dol Amroth." I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, for I suddenly realized I was treading on treacherous ground.  
  
"What sort of things did you tell him?"  
  
"Personal things. What the orcs did to me, how I couldn't have children, that sort of thing." I knew how important Faramir's uncle was to him, and no matter how I felt about the man, did not want to drive a wedge between them by telling him what Imrahil had said about Eowyn. Not to mention his wanting Aragorn to command Faramir to marry me. "I think he may have told the King something that made him do this, but I'm not sure. Prince Imrahil seemed as surprised as I did at court, and he was nice to me afterwards. I just don't understand what's going on!"  
  
"I cannot believe that Uncle would have told the King something he was told in confidence, Hethlin. Did you ask him to keep what he told you secret?" The grimness was still there, and it frightened me, for I did not want to be at odds with Faramir, particularly right now.  
  
"He promised....what were his exact words.......he promised on his honor that he would not bandy what I told him abroad. But that's not the same as promising not to tell anyone, is it? He could have said that, and told just the King, and not been forsworn, couldn't he?"  
  
Faramir pondered that for a moment, then finally and reluctantly nodded. "Yes, Heth, if that's what he said, he could in fact have told the King. I must speak to the two of them, and see if I can determine exactly what is going on here. You let me handle this, all right?"   
  
"Aye, my lord." A knock at the door heralded the arrival of the healer, and the beginning of an hour of unpleasantness. I sat up leaning against Faramir, as the man cleaned and stitched my head, and gripped his hand tightly till I finally passed out, as the healer flushed and probed and flushed and scraped at my arm wound. He found a small scrap of cloth that had been borne into the wound by the tip of the dagger, and removed it. He also announced that the throwing knife had been very dirty, possibly even soiled with dung as Faramir had suggested. He poulticed the arm with herbs, and left packets with further doses and some very strong willowbark tea. I had a concussion, and rest was what was needed, he told Faramir, and Faramir tucked me back under the blanket, and promised that I would get it.  
  
When I awoke sometime later, I was shivering, and Faramir was tucking another blanket around me. I noticed in passing that my arm was poulticed and bandaged, and that I was wearing a clean shirt and breeches. He'd apparently been very busy while I was unconscious.  
  
"Don't you have a job, or something?" I asked him, teeth chattering a little. A look at the window showed a grey and rainy day outside, but the quality of the light indicated that it was well into the morning.  
  
"I have a job, and I have a staff, and I suspect that everyone thinks I'm sleeping the party off right now."  
  
"Did you get any sleep at all last night?" He was pouring me a cup of tea, and his face looked tired.  
  
"A couple of hours. Lorend came for me at dawn. I wish he'd gone ahead and come sooner under the circumstances."  
  
"You shouldn't be doing this, my lord. We're not at Henneth-Anun. You can call a carriage, and ship me off to the Houses of Healing."  
  
"You don't need to go out in the rain, Heth, and somehow I don't think you want strangers touching you just now. The healer says you're not that badly hurt, if the arm doesn't fester. If we get the fever down, then bed rest is what you need, and you can do that anywhere. Unless you'd rather go to the Houses?"  
  
"No, I'd rather stay here."  
  
"There you have it then. Drink this." I did as he bade, and drank the willowbark, which was very strong, and very bitter, but it washed the bad tasting glue out of my mouth most effectively. I shuddered as I drained it to the dregs, and Faramir held out a second mug.  
  
"Good girl. Here's your reward. Let's see if you can keep this down." And I almost laughed, despite the fact that my head would hurt horribly if I did, for when I sipped it, it was very sweet honeyed tea, which he had often fed me when I first came to the Rangers, and was ill. He then settled himself back into the chair, and I noticed that he had his mother's book in his hand.  
  
"Now for a bed-time story." He started to read in Elvish, and I almost laughed again, for of course, it was the magic horse story. He smiled, and continued to read, and I just lay there and listened to the sound of his voice, and shivered, remembering all the other times he'd read to me during my sickness, when I would fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He had discovered over time, that if he read me to sleep, I almost never had bad dreams, so it became a sort of preventative medicine. And I realized, listening to him, that though I may not have consciously known I loved him before my confrontation with the Witch-King, my attachment to him went back much further than that, probably almost to the very moment he'd drawn me from the water. While it was true that in the beginning, it had probably been that attraction the sick feel for those who tend them, it had grown over time into a truer emotion. And though he would never be mine, I was not discontent, for my love was a kind man, and valiant and true, and my love for him did me credit. I had not given my affections to one who was unworthy.  
  
So I lay there, and listened and shivered, and pondered with my poor, sore brain, and he came to the end of the story, and found me still awake.  
  
"I appear to be losing my touch," he said with a smile.  
  
"That's because princes are in bed-time stories, they don't read them."  
  
"You're still cold. I'll fetch another blanket."   
"Why don't you just pull your boots and slide under here instead? If you put another of those heavy blankets on me, I don't think I'll be able to breathe." He considered this for a moment, then nodded.  
  
"It used to work on those icy nights in Ithilien. And I am tired." He went around to the left side of the bed, thereby putting me between his warmth and that of the fire, slipped his boots off, and slid between the sheets. He turned onto his side, presenting his back to me. "There you go, snuggle up now." And I did so, moving very slowly and carefully, till I had spooned up quite closely. Though it seldom snowed in Ithilien, the winter weather could be very cruel, and it had often been the custom on the coldest winter nights for the Rangers to pair up and share their blankets and body heat. When such occasions had arisen, my partner had always either been the Captain, or I slept alone and shivered, for Faramir did not want me circulating through the troop. And when we'd shared blankets, he'd always slept in the exact same position he'd assumed just now. It suddenly occurred to me that there might be a very good reason he did that, and I stifled a chuckle.  
  
"What is it?" he asked drowsily. "Are you all right? Hopefully, that tea will start working soon."  
  
"I am fine, my lord. Just remembering something. Go to sleep." Not more than a couple of minutes later, I heard that tiny, soft snore of his. A Ranger learned to sleep at a moment's notice, when he could and how he could, and apparently Faramir still kept that much of his skill. It took me a bit longer, but eventually, the warmth emanating from him and contained by the blankets penetrated me, and my shivering subsided, and the tea did begin to work, and my headache lessened. I buried my nose in his soft, black hair, cuddled as close as I possibly could, and fell deeply asleep.  
  
  
There came a time, in my slumber, when I became aware of a voice speaking to me from a great distance, perhaps in Elvish, I thought, though I couldn't be sure, and I tried to answer, but couldn't seem to form the words. Then there was an veritable explosion of stars, and I seemed to be falling through them for a long while, till all went black suddenly, and I knew no more.  
  
  
The next time I knew of anything, it was the sound of a number of voices, and they were speaking Westron and not Elvish. It slowly came to me that I was in my bed, and my hand lay in the empty spot where Faramir had been, and the voices were coming from near the fire, so they were behind my back. I did not know how long I had slept, but I did not feel refreshed at all--in fact, I felt as weary as if I'd been exercising heavily. But after a time, I realized that my fever was gone, my head no longer hurt at all, and my arm was at rest as well. I felt very much disinclined to move, so I lay quietly and listened to what was said.  
  
"We had all our clothes on, Uncle--I don't see how anyone could think evil of it." That was Faramir, and he sounded respectfully exasperated.  
  
"You or I would not, lad, nor would any person of reasonable intelligence and good will. Or anyone that knows you or the Lady Hethlin. But we are talking about courtiers here, and I hope you will not insult my intelligence by implying I have no knowledge of the sorts of mischief they can cause by taking an innocent incident and blowing it up all out of proportion. This is not Ithilien, and different rules apply. Had someone other than myself walked in on you, you might have found yourself having a very uncomfortable interview with Eomer and his sister right now." That was Prince Imrahil, and he sounded both reasonable and concerned.  
  
"She asked me to. She had a chill. When you woke me up, she'd stopped shivering. Eowyn would understand. She and Hethlin are friends."  
  
"Ah, but would Eomer? I venture to suggest that his view of such things is somewhat more....narrow. And I know him rather better than you do, nephew."  
  
"And if you have no care for the lady's reputation, my lord Steward, do try to have a care for her heart. It is cruel of you to dangle such crumbs of friendship before her as you can spare." That voice, silky and smooth as brook water flowing over polished rock, was Prince Elrohir, and it took me a moment to realize that he sounded incredibly annoyed.  
  
"I should like to know what interest you have in the lady, my lord Prince, that you believe you can call me to account." Faramir again, though this time his voice was ice, and put me much in mind of his father suddenly.  
  
"Oh, nothing romantic, I assure you--though, betrothed as you are, my lord Steward, it is not your place to rebuke me if I did. Say rather that I went to some trouble to take a piece that had been removed from the game, and place it back on the board, and I don't like the way it's being played." I was shocked by the casual arrogance of that remark, and suddenly realized exactly what a gulf of years lay between me and Elrohir. He apparently regarded me as a sort of pet, or something the Valar had provided for his exclusive amusement. His attitude did not sit well with Prince Imrahil, either.  
  
"Gentleman, this is a sickroom, not a brothel or a barn. I suggest that if it is your intention to quarrel, you take it somewhere else."  
  
"Oh, the lady will not wake for a couple of hours yet, Prince Imrahil," Elrohir assured him airily. "After I healed her, I sent her into a deep sleep. Which she will need, as the body's healing processes have been hastened, and she will be feeling very weary." What I primarily felt, besides being tired, was a certain degree of satisfaction that I'd just disproved his omniscience. "I simply feel it my duty to point out to the Prince of Ithilien that he very much begins to resemble the proverbial donkey caught between the two full mangers, and it would be better for all concerned if he would simply choose."  
  
"I am trying to recollect exactly what it is I've done to you that should cause you to be so wroth with me, my lord Elrohir." Faramir was still coldly furious. Elrohir laughed, and it was not a pleasant laugh, light and silvery as it was.  
  
"Oh no, my lord Faramir, you do not get off so easily as that! You are, by all accounts, an extremely perceptive man. I hear tales everywhere of your wisdom, your ability as a commander, the way you can see into the hearts of your men. You cannot tell me that you do not know that Hethlin is in love with you. And knowing that, I do strongly take exception to your treatment of her, all the little underhanded ways you've sought to bind her to you emotionally while you court another woman, and particularly your crawling into bed with her. She is Estel's kinswoman, and that makes her mine by association, and it is as her kinsman I call you to account."  
  
I wondered if the Valar, not to mention the King, would ever forgive me if I throttled Elrohir. I closed my eyes, and strove to compose myself. There was a long moment of silence.  
  
"I am sorry you believe so ill of me, Prince Elrohir, but truly I did not know." Faramir's voice was quieter now. "I had thought Hethlin and I were good friends."  
  
"Incredible! You truly are every bit as obtuse as you appeared to be?" This discovery baffled Elrohir considerably. "How is it that you could not know? Hethlin knows that you regard her only as a good friend. And she is indeed--the best you'll ever have, if you ask me. But she would be far more than that to you, if she could. And she hasn't hidden it particularly well, if you ask me." I lay seething furiously, and wondered if I could arrange for Elrohir to have an accident, one preferably involving Eagles--and great height.   
  
"Uncle, did you know anything about this?"  
  
"I suspected as much, when I brought you off of the field after the retreat. And Mablung and I discussed it on the way to the Black Gate." I promised myself a talk with Mablung as well before I left town. "The day before yesterday I asked her about it, and she admitted her affection for you. And yes, her desire was that you should never know about it." I got the impression that Elrohir was being given a disapproving stare.  
  
"Hethlin thinks that you told the King about this, Uncle, and that is why she is being sent down to Dol Amroth."  
  
"What? I did nothing of the kind, nephew, I swear it. I did tell Aragorn about her barreness, but only because he kept pressing me as to whether I knew if she had a young man she was interested in, or if I thought she would want me to arrange a marriage for her. And I would not have done that, had I not thought that she would very much dislike having to discuss such a matter with the King, which I feared would happen, should he pressure her to marry. But anything else she told me I kept in confidence, and that included her affection for you."  
  
Faramir sighed tiredly. "It appears that absolutely everyone knew about this except for me."  
  
"It happens that way sometimes, Faramir," his uncle said consolingly, "You were simply too close to see." Elrohir snorted, and Imrahil addressed him frostily.  
  
"Have you something else to add, Prince Elrohir?"  
  
"Only that if her barreness is the only impediment to her union with the Prince of Ithilien, my father might be able to mend it. He is the greatest healer on Middle-Earth after all. Does this change matters for you, son of Denethor?" Elrohir was still pushing things, I noted. Son of Denethor was hardly Faramir's favorite title, and I was sure Elrohir knew that.  
  
"I am in love with the Lady Eowyn of Rohan, and have entered into a contract of betrothal with her, and as soon as it may be arranged, I intend to marry her." Faramir replied with quiet dignity, and I closed my eyes at the final death knell of my dreams. "As for Hethlin," and here his voice became extremely dry and ironic, " I would think that as her concerned kinsman, you would seek healing for her whether she were betrothed or not."  
  
Elrohir ignored his tone. "And it is my intention to do so, as soon as I may. In the meantime, I'm going to have a little talk with Estel, and see about having her moved out of this hole, at the very least. Servant quarters, indeed!"  
  
"I needs must speak with Aragorn as well," said Imrahil, and distress was plain in his voice. "The poor child must absolutely hate me! I must find out what his reasoning on this was."  
  
"I had promised Hethlin that I would determine what was going on," Faramir said. "Perhaps you should leave this to me, Uncle."  
  
"I think you should all three go and speak to the King, and let me get some sleep," I said with what I felt was remarkable calm under the circumstances, and I sat up slowly and faced them. Had the situation been other than what it was, I might have been amused at the sight of three intelligent, intuitive, perceptive princes caught flat-footed and embarrassed with their mouths wide open.  
  
"You should not be awake!" Elrohir exclaimed, disbelief and indignation warring in his voice. I gave him a grim look.  
  
"Do you not know by now that I do a great many things I should not be able to do, son of Elrond?" I felt the merest brush of his mind against mine for a moment, perhaps intending to calm me or make me sleep, and then something very peculiar happened. All my outrage at his meddling, and my embarrassment and grief seemed to rise up in me, and I pictured myself giving him a good, sound slap. Something seemed to leave me with an almost audible whoosh, and I sagged onto one arm. Elrohir staggered back a step and looked very surprised for a moment. Then the look became one of thoughtful comprehension.  
  
"Of course. You speak with Eagles, and see through their eyes." He gave himself a little shake, while Faramir and Imrahil stared at him uncomprehendingly.  
  
"You will find, Hethlin, that there are manners that govern such exchanges," he warned me.  
  
"And as soon as I find someone who has them, Prince Elrohir, I shall endeavor to learn them." Somewhat to my surprise, this seemed to amuse him. He gave me one of his sideways, slanting looks, and his mouth curved up in a rakish smile. This was not the reaction I'd hoped for, so I clarified matters for him.  
  
"Prince Elrohir. I am not ungrateful or unmindful of all you have done for me. But until you can look upon me as a person, and not some pawn on a gameboard to be moved about for your own amusement, I wish not to see you again." I indicated the door. "Please leave now."  
  
I thought I saw a shadow of what might have been regret cross his face, and he gave me a peculiar, abrupt nod which was the first ungraceful move I'd ever seen him make, turned on his heel and left the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Faramir and Imrahil give each other disbelieving looks.  
  
"My lord of Dol Amroth," I said, turning my attention to Prince Imrahil. He nodded a polite acknowledgment.  
  
"Lady Hethlin."  
  
"I have no quarrel with you, sir. I understand why it was that you told the King what you did."  
  
"I am glad of that, lady, and glad I would be as well to have you in my household. But an oath made under duress is not binding, and if it is truly your will to go elsewhere, then I will release you."  
  
"I must speak with the King, I think, if that is possible, before I make a final decision, my lord Prince. Would it suffice if I come to you after I have done so, and when I am feeling better, that we might discuss this further?"  
  
"That would be wisest I think as well, Lady Hethlin," Prince Imrahil agreed, and he gave me a searching look with his sea-grey eyes as he bowed low.  
  
"Your servant, my lady." And he departed, leaving me alone with his nephew.  
  
"Actually, I think it's supposed to be the other way around." I said to the closed door after he had left. I rubbed my forehead wearily, and felt carefully at my left temple.  
  
"Just as I thought. A hedgehog." I heard a peculiar sound and looked at Faramir, who was standing with his hands folded behind his back, and giving me an uncertain, narrow-eyed look with his head tilted to one side.  
  
"You know, the main reason I never wanted you to know about this," I told him conversationally, "is so I'd never have to see you looking at me the way you're looking at me now. This is not your fault, Faramir, you've done nothing wrong, and it's not your problem."  
  
He cleared his throat and spoke with some difficulty, it seemed. "I don't know how you can say that, Heth. I must have done something to make you think--"  
  
"No, no you didn't. You never did. I did this all by myself, though for the longest time I didn't even know it was happening. Mablung warned me about it at the Causeway Forts. He saw it before I did. Do you want to know when I found out?" He nodded slowly.  
  
"It was the Witch-King." He started a bit at that, and gave me a disbelieving look.  
  
"Yes, the Witch-King. He went into my mind, and stripped it bare, and when he was offering me things to kill your uncle.....do you remember how I told you he offered to spare you?" Faramir nodded. "Did you never stop to think why that was?"  
  
"I thought perhaps it was because I was your commander, or that we were friends." His voice was a little hoarse.  
  
"Oh, no. He offered me riches, and power, and armies to command--and you, spared by Sauron to be mine in whatever way I wished. And when I realized that he'd been in the deepest recesses of my mind, and was offering what he knew I would most desire, it was then I knew I loved you." I looked at him, and his eyes were suspiciously bright, and I wondered why he should be on the verge of tears when my eyes were so dry. I drew up my knees, wrapped my arms around them, and set my chin upon them, turning away a little to give him some privacy.  
  
"Actually, you may have helped to save me there. Perhaps in some deep corner of my mind, I came to doubt that such a thing of evil, that knew nothing of love, could promise the love of another to me. Or perhaps not. But it was while I was in the Grey Lands that I realized I could never let you know. I could not give you children, so I could not be your wife, and you would not have had me as your mistress. I told Mablung what was going on when Elrohir brought me back, and he made me promise, when he left for the Black Gate, that if Sauron prevailed, I would speak to you before the end, that perhaps we might have a little time together. But then we won the day, and you met Eowyn, and that was that."  
  
"Oh, Heth." I wasn't watching him, but I heard his voice break. "It is a sad thing when someone as fine as you has to hope for the end of the world to find love."  
  
"But that is what it would have taken." He did not try to deny it. "Will you tell me something, Faramir? Was there ever a time you thought about.....sleeping with me?"  
  
"Yes." The answer came so swiftly, that I looked at him in surprise. He actually smiled back at me, seeming in some way to have been heartened by the question.  
  
"Heth, I'm not made of stone. I've not had much experience of women, that's true. There was that.....lady Boromir bought me for my sixteenth birthday.." I choked at that mental image, and he looked at me sidelong. "No, you never did hear me tell that particular tale around the campfire! And I would appreciate it if it went no further! There were the other occasional encounters through the years. But it had been quite a while, and we were at war, and in peril of our lives every day. Of course I thought about it!"  
  
"Was it because I was the only woman around? I mean, would anyone have done?"  
  
"No! Did you see me heading off to the brothels when we went to Minas Tirith? Wouldn't I have done that if anyone would do?"  
  
"I can't see you going to a brothel under any circumstances."  
  
"I thank you for that." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What exactly is it you're wanting to know, Heth? I feel that you have a question you want answered, and we're at cross purposes here."  
  
I gestured at myself. "I always thought that one of the reasons you never looked at me in that way was because you knew what I looked like, and you...didn't like it."  
  
Comprehension lit his eyes. "Oh no, Heth, that wasn't what stopped me." Another quick answer, spoken with complete certainty. "What stopped me was that I was your commander, and I had saved your life, and I was your friend, and I knew that any or all of those reasons would make you agree if I asked you, whether you truly wished to or not."  
  
This was both reassuring, and extremely frustrating. "By the Valar, I wish you'd been a little less principled, Faramir! You're probably the only person who could ever get past that. Now I'll go to my grave not knowing what it's like to sleep with anyone who isn't an orc!" I was deeply disappointed and irritated as well, but he looked at me gravely.  
  
"I don't believe that, Hethlin. It's not as bad as you think it is, and it wouldn't matter a bit to anyone who cared about you. You will find the right person, and he will love you, and you'll see that it makes no difference at all."  
  
"I don't know," I said slowly. "I don't think I'll ever love anyone else like I love you. I don't think there's enough of my heart left over." He very visibly flinched at that, and turned away from me, moving over to the fireplace, and staring into the flames.  
  
"Please don't say that, Hethlin. I can't bear to think I've ruined your life."  
  
"You haven't ruined my life, Faramir. I have known for some time that though I love you, I would never have you. Don't worry about me, and please don't blame yourself. I will have a good life. Everybody doesn't find true love, but people muddle along nonetheless."  
  
Several moments passed in silence, the only sound the crackling of the flames. Then he said something completely unexpected.  
  
"Rain. Rain after long drought." I recognized the voice, though I'd not heard it in a long while, and the hairs on my neck rose. I got up rather shakily and moved towards him. As I approached, he looked up, and as I expected, his eyes were wide and almost black, and looked right through me. He was shaking a bit, the dream had him hard.  
  
"Rain in the desert. Unexpected. Grief as deep as the sea, then a yearning as boundless. Fire kindled, where all was cold. White birds, two white birds, flying together. Two swords in the East. Blood and death in the East. The Star of the North, many Stars of the North, all in a line. Love stronger than death. Love come back from death. Great pain, then great joy. Great joy in the morning." With a great shudder, he came back to himself, and I reached out a hand to steady him. He looked at me, confused.  
  
"What happened, Heth?"  
  
"You were dreaming."  
  
"Was I? Valar, I haven't done that in a while!" He spent a moment trying to recollect what had happened. "I don't think it was the wave dream, was it?"  
  
"No. This was a whole bunch of different things. New things. Swords, and birds, and rain. It made no sense whatsoever, as far as I could tell."  
  
"Well! I thought I'd seen the last of that with the end of the war. I was just standing there, looking at the fire, and trying to think about the sort of fellow I thought might suit you, and the next thing you know, I'm spouting nonsense!" He gave me a rueful smile. "Don't hold it against me?" I felt a chill run down my spine, but managed to smile back.  
  
"Never."  
  
"Here," he chided me, suddenly realizing I was standing with him. "What are you doing out of bed? Get back in there right now!" He took my elbow, and helped me back in, and pulled the blankets up around me. There was sadness in his eyes as he looked down at me.  
  
"I am so very sorry, Heth."  
  
"You have naught to apologize for. I would not have missed loving you for the world, Faramir."  
  
He looked down at me for a moment longer, then, rather to my surprise, bent down and gently kissed me on the lips. It was sweet, and soft, and swiftly over.  
  
"I must go speak to the King, Heth. Get some rest."  
  
"Aye, Captain." But in the end, I disobeyed his orders, and lay awake for sometime after he had gone, looking at the door through which he'd passed. And finally, the tears came--like rain after long drought. 


	19. The Citadel

Author's note--Look, Ricco--no evil, no anvils! And yes, I still have a life.;-)  
  
  
I woke in a room quite different from the one in which I'd gone to sleep, with no memory of how I had come to be there. Late evening sun poured in through a door and floor length windows set with beautiful cut glass. The bed in which I found myself had a feather tick soft as a cloud, and was large enough that it could have held six Rangers. The outer coverlet, which lay over several soft blankets, was of a green brocade woven in a leaf pattern, and there were bed hangings to match. The Tree and Stars were carved into the headboard, and into various artistically appropriate places on the other lovely furniture in the room. There were thick carpets woven in a forest design upon the polished wood floors. Stags and rabbits and birds peeped out from behind the leaves.  
  
Two large, overstuffed armchairs sat before a fireplace with a lovely wrought-iron screen, also done in the twining leaf motif. A polished table sat between them, and more tables were on either side of the bed. My Elvish book and the books Faramir had lent me lay upon one of them, and I could see my hauberk and arms across the room on an armor stand, the Elven bow hung carefully across a couple of pegs in the wall. I could almost have fit the house in which I'd been born into this room, it was so vast. There were three doors--one to the hallway, presumably, one to an adjoining room, and the third glass door out to a balcony or perhaps a garden.  
  
There was someone moving in the room. I looked up, and a woman was at a wardrobe across the room from me, placing clothes within it. I sat up, and she turned around and smiled at me. She was middle-aged, and pleasant faced, and wore a tabard with the sigil of the Citadel upon it over her gown.  
  
"My name is Felith, my lady, and I am at your service. Is there anything you require?" I considered my most pressing needs.  
  
"The location of the nearest garderobe, and a bath, if that is possible." She indicated the door to the adjoining room.  
  
"There is a chair within there, and a washstand, and a tub. When you have finished, I will send for hot water." I got up carefully, and found that my head felt well enough, and that I was only momentarily shaky. Felith stood ready to assist me, but I made it to the bathroom under my own power, and took care of matters. When I came out, it was to find a robe and slippers waiting for me. She settled me into one of the armchairs, tucked a lap robe around me, and began to light a fire which had been already laid. Soon after, a man servant began bringing in a succession of ewers of hot water, and filling the tub in the adjoining room. When he was finished, I went back in and enjoyed the luxury of a very hot bath in a very big tub. Felith again asked if I wished for assistance, but I did not care for that sort of help, being sensitive about my unclothed appearance. And whatever was wrong with Elrohir's attitude, there was nothing wrong with his abilities as a healer. The more I moved about, the better I felt. I washed my hair as well, scrubbing carefully so as to not hurt the stitches, but persevering until the last of the blood and its reek were gone. It is impossible to describe how much better that made me feel--it was as if I had washed the incident away with the blood.  
  
When I came out in the robe, I found that Felith had laid out clean clothes--a shirt, underthings, green tunic and breeches that I did not recognize. They were all of a much finer quality than I had been accustomed to wearing.  
  
"How came these here?" I asked her, and she smiled a little.  
  
"The Lords Elladan and Elrohir went shopping this afternoon. They took some of your things to get the size right." I contemplated a mental picture of Elrohir shopping for underdrawers for me, yet another in the series of horrific images that was my life. I decided that some things were better if not too deeply thought upon, and retreated to the bathroom to change. My boots, I noticed, had been properly polished for once.  
  
Upon my final return from my watery sanctuary, Felith was setting the armchairs to face the table before the fire.  
  
"Dinner will be served shortly, my lady. I hope you are hungry."  
  
"I'm famished! I haven't eaten since lunch at court yesterday-providing yesterday was the fifth. How long have I been asleep?"  
  
"You were asleep when they brought you upstairs this morning, and they said you'd been hurt last night."  
  
"Who is they?"  
  
"Oh, goodness, there were all sorts of people! The elf-lords, and Prince Faramir, and Prince Imrahil, and that gentleman who is the Captain of the Rangers, and Lord Hurin. I haven't seen such carryings-on since I started working here!"  
  
"Oh, dear," I groaned. When I'd told them to all go and speak to the King and let me sleep, I hadn't imagined they'd bring in reinforcements. The odds were good I was the King's least favorite person in the kingdom about now--though I had to admit, if that were so, this was certainly the nicest dungeon I'd ever seen.  
  
On impulse, I stepped over to the glass door, and opened it. A balcony lay beyond, with an intricately carved stone railing. It was of reasonable size, and several containers of young plants were scattered about. Some of them looked as if blooming were imminent. There were even a couple of tiny trees in pots. I was definitely in the Citadel, and as I looked down, realized, I was very high up. Fortunately, I have always had a head for heights, they don't bother me in the least. Dark, enclosed spaces, on the other hand.........  
  
The view was breathtaking in the setting sunlight--I could see clear across the River to Emyn Arnen and Ithilien. I wondered if this was intentional.  
  
"If my lady would come in and sit by the fire, I would be glad to brush your hair dry," Felith suggested diffidently from inside the room. I had to admit, there was a bit of a breeze up here, and the air was beginning to chill with the coming of nightfall. "You've been ill, and it's not good to sit about with a wet head."  
  
So I came back inside, picked up the book of children's stories, and sat by the fire while Felith started to brush my hair dry. She paused to finger the shorter bits sticking up at the back of my head, and I gave a ticklish shudder.  
  
"What happened here, my lady?"  
  
"I had to have stitches. One of those things the Black Riders rode clawed the back of my head when I was riding with Lord Faramir back to the City."  
  
The hairbrush hit the floor, but she stooped quickly to retrieve it. "My word! I heard of that! How did you come to be in such a terrible situation?"  
  
"I was one of his Rangers. He asked me to ride with him."  
  
"What would a fine young lady like yourself be doing, riding to war? I heard tell that the young Rohan lady did so, but I didn't know one of our girls did." The hairbrushing resumed..  
  
"Orcs killed my family. I thought I'd kill a few of them back." It paused for a moment, then started again.  
  
"Well! I think it's a sad state of affairs when a poor young lady such as yourself has to fight, instead of being able to sit home and plan her wedding!" It was apparent that Felith and I were not going to be able to find much in common to converse about, but she was a very good lady's maid, and didn't once hurt my stitches. I buried my nose in my book, and my hair was quite dry, and starting to crackle and fly beneath her strokes, when there was a knock at the door. I bade whoever it was enter, and three manservants entered, bearing large trays containing the evening meal. They proceeded to set the table with a snowy cloth, and silver plates and goblets, and covered silver dishes that filled the air with a savory smell. I noticed that there were two places set. When they'd completed their tasks, the men bowed, and departed as silently as they'd come. Felith put the brush away, and dropped me a curtsy.  
  
"I'll be back later this evening, my lady." She departed, and I laid the book aside, and lifted the cover on one of the dishes. For a wonder, a roast and not a chicken! I heard the door open again, and looked up. The King of Gondor stood in the doorway, regarding me with a grave face but twinkling eyes.  
  
"I believe I owe you a meal," he said.  
  
I started to rise, but he stopped me with a wave of the hand. "That's quite all right, Hethlin, let's not stand on ceremony here." He came forward, and dropped into the chair opposite me with a sigh of relief. "I have had the most interesting day. And right now, I am supposed to be at yet another court dinner. Let me thank you for sparing me that."   
  
I wasn't quite sure how he meant that, but decided to take it literally. "You're welcome, Sire." He lifted the lid of the very tray I'd been looking at, and sniffed appreciatively.  
  
"Shall I carve?"  
  
"If you would, please, sir." He gave me an intent look, then a smile, picked up the knife laid ready on the table, and as one might expect from one of Middle-Earth's premier swordsmen, made short work of the roast. We then spent some time passing various dishes back and forth, and filling our plates and glasses. When all was made ready for serious consumption, he indicated that I should begin eating, which I did quite eagerly, for though I was uneasy about the nature of his visit, I was very, very hungry indeed. He seemed to enjoy watching me eat, though he was not far behind me as far as consumption went--he was a tall man, and very active after all.  
  
The food was magnificent, and varied, and there was wine served with it, though I was careful just to sip it and that alternating with sips of water. I thought I saw a glimmer of approval in his eyes. When we had blunted the first edges of our hunger, he sat back with an air of contentment, and gave me a keen look.  
  
"So--how does it feel to be the most important woman in Gondor?"  
  
"The what? My lord, I don't understand what you mean. And I certainly don't understand about all this." And I indicated the room about me with sweep of my hand.  
  
"It seems that it is time for me to explain myself upon a number of levels." Puzzled, I watched as he reached into a belt pouch embossed with the royal arms, and pulled forth a parchment covered with neat, close-spaced writing.  
  
"Do you know what this is?" I shook my head .  
  
"This is my schedule. Which is prepared for me daily by the extremely efficient secretary supplied to me by the Steward. It tells me, poor, backward Ranger that I am, where and when and with whom I'm supposed to be for the better part of the day." A slightly irritated look crossed his face. "It also gives concise directions on how to get to various places, not that I need them. It's true I haven't been here since well before Faramir was born, but the place hasn't changed that much. Once I've been somewhere, I don't get lost, not that I can convince my secretary of that." He looked at it broodingly for a moment, then suddenly crumpled it into a small ball, and set it upon the table. "That was how my day was supposed to go." He paused to help himself to some more roasted vegetables. When he had finished, he resumed speaking.  
  
"What actually happened was that I was descended upon first by the very indignant Prince of Ithilien, one of the two props of my realm, who demanded to know the reasoning behind my sending you away from Ithilien, and why I had questioned his judgment in the matter of the Ranger assignments in the first place. He assured me that if my concern was over the possibility of some romantic indiscretion or scandal, that I had naught to worry about from you. He was followed shortly thereafter by the Prince of Dol Amroth, the other of my two props. Prince Imrahil's accusation was even more serious--he informed me that I had compromised his honor by forcing you to swear fealty to him against your inclination. Imrahil is the most congenial of men, save when matters of honor are concerned, so it was a .....painful.... interview to say the least."  
  
"I had barely weathered Imrahil's wrath, when my foster brothers demanded admittance to the royal person. Elrohir claimed that you were being housed in a fetid hole. I'm reasonably sure there aren't any fetid holes in the Citadel."  
  
"My room was perfectly adequate, my lord King, though Lord Elrohir may have been judging by Elven standards."  
  
"Lord Elrohir has spent much of his long adult life sleeping rolled up in a cloak, and upon the ground, under the open sky and in all weathers. He was simply being his usual perverse self. Though he did have a valid point--you are my kinswoman, and as such, should not be sleeping in the servant quarters. Elladan was in quiet agreement with him, adding that you were ill-supplied of clothing and other necessities, which did not reflect well upon me as your kinsman. I own I was somewhat short-tempered at that point, so I gave them leave to amend my deficiencies as they saw fit. What you have here is the result. This room, by the way, is part of the royal suite." I gulped. He buttered a roll and offered it to me, then did another for himself. I took a bite of mine, and chewed slowly, watching him and wondering if the disastrous tale had reached its end yet.  
  
"Elladan and Elrohir had barely departed, and I was settling down to get some real work done, when up showed Mablung with an escort of extremely surly Rangers. Mablung pointed out to me that if I had not surprised you so badly at court, you would not have felt the need to ride forth into the night, and subsequently almost get yourself raped and killed. Did I mention they had a couple of Duinhir's men with them, who also wanted to make sure you were all right before they left town?" He devoured his roll in two swift bites.  
  
"What I do not understand is how I became the personification of Evil to the Ithilien Rangers," he remarked morosely. "They're Rangers, I'm a Ranger--you'd think we'd get along better than we do. But there you have it--they wanted a progress report, so I sent the lot of them off to Elladan and Elrohir. And was once again going about my kingly tasks when Hurin came in. He at least, was on business--or so it seemed at first--giving me a report on the business out at the caravan. It may interest you to know that with some.... persuasion, the location of the Lossarnach boy became known. He too had been robbed and killed, and buried in one of the trenches in that was being filled in. So that was a bad business all around, and I thank you for discovering it and dealing with it, though I know it was costly to you personally." I simply nodded assent, and set to my meal again. A wry note entered the King's voice, and I looked up in concern.  
  
"Lord Hurin asks me to remind you that you were acting under his authority, with an acting captaincy, and that he thanks you for being kind enough to do that watch for him at his request. He also asks me to assure you that though you may not remember it because of your head wound, you were in fact officially listed on the watch roster for that night, and it is a matter of public record."  
  
I felt my cheeks get red, and my eyes blurred a bit at Lord Hurin's kindness. The King just sighed, and shook his head.  
  
"What all seem to agree upon here is that if I can't manage the realm any better than I've managed you, then we are in serious trouble. And since you seem to have both Princes of the realm, the Warden of the Keys, the Rangers of Ithilien, and my kinsmen all at your beck and call, that makes you the most important woman in Gondor right now."  
  
I wanted to sink through the floor in embarrassment. Barely a week into his reign, and I seemed to have become the center of a seditious uprising! He noticed the chagrin on my face and chuckled kindly.  
  
"Hethlin, I am not angry with you. It is said that a person can be judged in two ways--by the quality of their enemies, or their friends. Your friends are so numerous, and so extraordinary in their loyalty for a good reason, I think. I did not come here tonight to chastise you, I came to apologize--and to explain why it was I did what I did."  
  
He leaned forward suddenly, his gaze intent. "I am very sorry to have put such pain upon you, Hethlin, and sorrier still that it could have cost you your life. I hope that you will forgive me, and that we may become friends in time." He looked at me with such regret and sincerity in his grey eyes that it almost took my breath away. Faramir, Imrahil, Elrohir and even King Eomer were all men (or elves) possessed of great personal charm. But when Aragorn son of Arathorn unbent enough to reveal the humor and nobility and sweetness that lay within him, he cast them all into the shade.  
  
I looked down, and took a moment to collect myself, then raised my eyes to him once more. "I will gladly forgive you, Sire, on one condition." He looked surprised for a moment.  
  
"Name it, and if I can grant it, I will."  
  
I took a deep breath. "You told me yourself that in Numenor, I would have been the head of my house. You may feel that I am your ward, but that is not what I want. I am a warrior proven in battle, and the last of my line. In the future, I wish you to treat with me as head of my House, and not some woman whose fate is subordinate to your wishes. Though as your subject," I was quick to amend, "your wish is my will as well. But I should like to choose my own husband, should I ever desire to wed at all."  
  
The King regarded me thoughtfully for a long moment. "That would seem to be a way to prevent similar misunderstandings in the future. And it is a reasonable request. Granted, Hethlin." I sighed in relief, and he smiled.  
  
"Now, as to the matter of why I did as I did--there were two reasons, and of the first, all I will say is that I am foresighted like many of our people, and I had a dream in which I saw you at Dol Amroth, and felt you had something important to do there. More than that I will not tell--for too much knowledge of such visions can actually prevent a desirable outcome. And sometimes trying to avoid a fate of which you have foreknowledge will bring it about all the sooner." He waved his hand in a vague sort of way. "It was a rather...imprecise vision in any event."  
  
"They generally are," I agreed, thinking of my experiences with Faramir's dreams.  
  
"Have you the foresight, then? I did not know."  
  
"Not me, my lord. Or at least, not yet. I'm the one that talks to very large birds. Lord Faramir is the dreamer."  
  
"Ah, that's right. I remember now. His was the dream was that brought Boromir to Rivendell." His face grew somber for a moment, then lightened as if a far happier memory had occurred to him.  
  
"As for my second reason......I'm going to tell you something you must keep in strictest confidence. I have not revealed this to even my closest friends in the Fellowship, for I wish it to be a surprise. Have I your word on this?"  
  
"I swear to you I will tell no one, my lord King," I promised, though I was a bit worried. What manner of secret was this, that he'd not told even those dearest to him?  
  
"Very good. Gandalf knows of this, as do Elrohir and Elladan. The day after tomorrow, the Rohirrim will be returning home. My foster brothers will accompany them so long as their roads lie together, after which the two of them will go to Lorien to meet my bride, and escort her here."  
  
I looked at him in amazement. "Your bride? You are betrothed?" He nodded, and I grinned. "Oh my, won't there be some disappointed court ladies!"  
  
"Won't there just?" he agreed, and for a moment there was an echo of Elrohir in his suddenly wicked smile. He had not yet been subject to the sort of attention Imrahil endured on a regular basis, for people were still somewhat intimidated by him, but some of the bolder young women had started making advances, and things were only going to escalate as time went on. He would undoubtedly be pleased to put a stop to that sort of thing as quickly as possible.  
  
"Who is she, my lord? A Dunedan of the North?" It occurred to me suddenly that if the King had been unattached, and Elrohir had successfully petitioned his father to cure my infertility, that I could have been considered a candidate for Queen of Gondor. I did not share this observation with the King.  
  
"No. She is Arwen Undomiel, Lord Elrond's daughter." I digested this for a moment.  
  
"She's Elladan's and Elrohir's sister?"  
  
"That is correct."  
  
"Is she much younger than they are?"  
  
"Only by a very few years."  
  
"Then that makes her...."  
  
"Almost three thousand years old. Yes." He seemed to be waiting for my reaction curiously. I spent some long moments deciding exactly how I was going to phrase my next question.  
  
"How is this going to be done, if you don't mind my asking, my lord? Will she simply stay with you while you live?" He shook his head, rather sadly I thought.  
  
"It doesn't work that way, Hethlin. She is one of Elrond's children, and they all have a choice; to become mortal, or to live as the Elves do. When she became betrothed to me, she chose a mortal existence. In time, she will grow old and die, even as Men do."  
  
I must have simply gaped at him for a moment, as I contemplated the depth of a love that would give up so much, and what sort of man he must truly be, to inspire such a love. He watched me, waiting, his eyes dark, and one eyebrow slightly arched.  
  
Finally, I said, "I think I am very glad that Lord Elrohir doesn't like me any better than he does." He acknowledged this with a short, sharp nod.  
  
"Indeed. And there are times, though they come not often, and are very brief, when I wish Arwen did not love me so well." He pushed his chair back suddenly, got to his feet, and began pacing, his unease expressed in a desire for movement. Strider, indeed. "All the rest of the time, of course, I am very glad she does. My greatest fear, the one that haunts my nights and troubles my sleep is, that having given up eternal life, she will come into my keeping, and through some lack of care on my part, lose what little life remains to her. She must absolutely be kept safe." He paused for a moment, and looked me in the eye. "And this is where you come in."  
  
"There will, of course, always be guards about her. But it may be that diplomatic necessity require that I travel to other lands, and that concerns me. In Harad, and other places, people would fear her, not understanding what she was. Such might even happen in parts of my kingdom--the Elves have not been seen abroad much among Men for many years. And not understanding, they might strike out against what they fear." The pacing resumed once more.  
  
"When I first met you, and discovered who you were, it occurred to me that there was a way I might add an extra layer of protection about my wife, during those times she stood in most peril. If one of her ladies was somewhat more than just a lady, was in fact an accomplished warrior, then perhaps she might be able to hold attackers at bay until help arrived, if people meaning harm to Arwen penetrated my defenses." He nodded at my sudden look of comprehension.  
  
"I realize that this is certainly a thankless job--to be asked to stand unarmored against Valar knows what, and be prepared to lay your life down for my Queen--but it was what I was thinking of when I denied you Ithilien. There are any number of good Rangers I might send there, but only one woman in my kingdom who could do this for me and my Queen."  
  
I got up out of my chair as well. "Sire, my sword is yours. You had only to ask--and to explain." He smiled at me ruefully.  
  
"So it always was with your father, as well. He would do anything for me, so long as he knew the reasoning behind it. Not much on blind obedience, was Hallaran, though he was absolutely reliable. I fear I've been too much around Gandalf, and picked up his habit of keeping what he knows close. Or tried to--it must be a wizard's trick, for I've not proven very skilled at it." He moved to the balcony door, and gestured that I should accompany him. He opened it, and we stepped out into the cool spring darkness. The City lay like a series of ever larger, jeweled necklaces beneath us.  
  
"I chose Dol Amroth, for as I said the other day, Imrahil's court is truly the most polished in Gondor. And because I had seen you there. And because his Armsmaster is acknowledged the best teacher of the blade in the kingdom. I need you deadly with a sword or knife, and dangerously accomplished as a courtier as well, and the Swan Lord's city is the best place for you to acquire both of those skills." A chill night wind lifted our hair.  
  
"Then I will go to Prince Imrahil tomorrow, and assure him that my oath is a willing one, Sire," I told him without hesitation. He nodded.  
  
"Thank you for that, Hethlin. I will speak to Imrahil as well, for there is something else I would have you do for me before you begin your training with him. It would not start in earnest until he returns to Dol Amroth in any event, and he will not do that until some time after the wedding."  
  
"I should like you to accompany my foster brothers on their journey as my official courier. It seems to me only fitting that a representative of Gondor help to escort my betrothed to her new home." My expression must have been plain even in the darkness, for he laughed a little.  
  
"I know that you are at odds with Elrohir right now, but as compensation, you would get to see Lorien." His face and voice sobered suddenly. "And Hethlin, there will not be many more chances to do that. The Elves are leaving Middle-Earth. It would be a very good thing for you to be able to tell your children--and yes, I do believe you'll have them one day--that you had seen the Dreamflower in Spring when the Elves were still there."  
  
"I feel as if I've come in at the end of a really good story, having missed all the exciting parts that came before," I said softly, and he sighed in agreement.  
  
"I do as well, for though I did come in somewhat earlier than you did, it is still but a moment earlier as Elves reckon such things. And I was raised by Elrond at Imladris. I probably know as much about Elves as any man alive, and I already grieve at their passing."  
  
"There will probably be a few remaining when I pass on, and even when you do, but our children's children will never know of them, save as legend. So even though you are wroth with Elrohir, I hope you will look upon this as an opportunity, for it is not one that will come again." In a sudden change of mood, the King grinned at me, and looked a very much younger man. "You should know, I've not seen him with his ears pinned back quite so thoroughly since the last time Elrond took him to task." I grimaced.  
  
"He is just so provoking! Elladan is much nicer."  
  
The King gave me a skeptical look. "Don't get too comfortable with that idea. The two of them are truly a matched pair, in the end. Elladan's just more subtle about it. I guarantee you any mischief they've done in the world has all been done in tandem."  
  
There was a knock at the door, which announced the arrival of yet another manservant, this one bearing dessert in the form of a hot apple pie. As the fragrance wafted towards us, we by unspoken agreement abandoned the cold balcony for the warm room, and the warm pie. As we sat down with dessert, and hot tea, the King looked at me almost shyly for a moment.  
  
"I hope that you'll like her, Hethlin, and be her friend. I suspect she'll need some here."  
  
"I'm sure I will, Sire," I replied warmly, and he smiled, and proceeded to tell me some tales of my father. We laughed and got along famously until it was time for him to go. He gave me both a brotherly kiss on the brow, and a warrior's clasp of arms, which made me laugh yet again, and departed. Whereupon Felith came in, and dressed me for bed in an actual nightgown such as I'd not worn since I was a small girl, brushed my hair one more time, and left me to sleep on the soft mattress like a cloud, to dream of golden trees.  
  
  
  
  
  



	20. The Princess

Author's Note--Sorry to take so long about this one--I have had a sinus/allergy/goopy chest cold/thingy all week. As Altariel has remarked, writing under the influence of antihistamines is a chancy thing--you don't know what you'll find when you come up out of the fog! So after a couple of false starts, here we go--and I'm not even going to say at this point how many chapters are left, because I've given up trying to figure it out. I think I'm close--but I thought I was close six chapters ago. Ah well, as long as you folks don't have anything better to do.......   
  
After my friend Alon's call for a vote for her next story idea, I am curious about something. I think I'll take an informal poll about who you people think would be the best match for Heth. I'm not saying I'll abide by the results of it, but I would like to know, given some of the suggestions I've had in my reviews. If you would like to vote in the Who Should Heth Nest With Poll, then drop me a line at my e-mail address on my author's page. You can vote for up to three, in order of precedence (I'll do the 3 points for first, 2 for second, 1 for third thing.). No Eagles or horses please, and ideally it should be someone she's met in the story, though I'll listen to reasons why someone should be written in. Remember, I don't consider the results binding, but it should be fun. I'll post the results with the next chapter, probably next weekend.  
  
Oh, and by the way, please review here, and vote there--my muse is a hungry muse!  
  
  
On the eighth day of May, the Riders of Rohan departed for their homeland. In the courtyard of the Citadel, Faramir, having studied up on such things, offered King Eomer and his sister a stirrup-cup upon their departure, which pleased Eowyn, and amused her brother. At one side of the courtyard, out of the hearing of the others, the King of Gondor said goodbye to his embassage to the Elves, which consisted of myself, the sons of Elrond, and Prince Imrahil. He spoke to Imrahil first in a low voice that I couldn't hear, but apparently it was a joke, because the Prince threw his head back in the early morning light, and laughed. Then the two of them clasped arms, and when the King released him, the Prince cantered his gray charger across the courtyard to where his family was waiting to see him off.  
  
The Prince's inclusion on this mission had been something of a last minute change. I had been sitting with him in his sunlit study the morning of the day before, after telling him that my reservations about being a Swan Knight had been laid to rest by the King. Aragorn had informed him of my destination, and the length of time he expected the trip to take, but had said nothing of its purpose. The Prince had promised to have the farrier check Fortune's feet before we left the next day, and then the conversation had turned to Lorien.  
  
"I envy you greatly, Hethlin, to have such an opportunity," he said, standing before a shelf of Elvish texts, and trailing his slender fingers across them. "To see the Nimrodel, and the Golden Wood, before the Elves depart--it is a wondrous thing." A decidedly wistful air had replaced his usual gentle gallantry.  
  
"My lord prince, why do you not ask the King if you might not accompany us?" I asked, greatly daring. "In truth, you would be a more appropriate person for this errand than I." There I stopped, realizing I might have already said too much. Imrahil arched his almost elven eyebrow.  
  
"Would I now, Hethlin? It is a tempting thought, but I fear the King needs me here. Your trip is going to take almost two months, according to what he told me. There is much to be done to set things back in order, and unfortunately, I am one of the people who have the knowledge he requires to do this." I remembered that there was a legend that one of the handmaidens of the elven lady Nimrodel was his ancestor. While I was excited at the idea of seeing the legendary Golden Wood, and its Lady, Lorien had a very personal significance to him.  
  
"But Faramir will be here, and your son Elphir! Surely between the two of them, they can help the King." The wistful air turned to amusement, and Imrahil started to grin.  
  
"Why Lady Hethlin," said the Prince of Dol Amroth, "I had no idea you were so enamored of my company!" I stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, for it had not occurred to me that he would take my remarks in that way.  
  
"No, my lord prince, I am not!" I declared quickly. The eyebrow rose even higher, and I realized just how bad that sounded, and started turning red. "I mean, I like you perfectly well, but...it was just that......you seemed so interested......and disappointed......" I floundered to a halt, very annoyed with myself. "Oh, you know what I mean!"  
  
"Yes, I think I get the gist of it," Imrahil replied, chuckling. "Ah me, I must meet with the King this afternoon anyway--perhaps I will mention my disappointment and desire to see Lorien to him. Surely he is the best judge as to whether I will be needed here in the next couple of months."  
  
Deciding that a tactical withdrawal was in order before I shot any more arrows through unintended targets, I wished him a good day, and departed hastily. However he had described his disappointment, it must have been moving indeed, and he not as indispensable as he thought, for he was waiting with Elladan and Elrohir the next morning, grinning like a boy on holiday, ready to play truant once more.  
  
  
  
Clad in the silver and sable of Gondor, I was functioning as the King's courier. He handed me a waxed leather pouch, and gave me a smile.  
  
"See that my lady gets this, Hethlin, and please give her my loving regard."  
  
"I'll do that, Sire," I promised, and stowed the pouch carefully in my saddlebag. He gave Elladan and Elrohir a meaningful look.   
  
"And watch yourself around those two."   
  
In response, 'those two' reined their horses to either side of the King, leaned down and embraced him. There was apparently some whispering coming from both sides, because he first turned his head slightly in Elrohir's direction, then in Elladan's. Then, with an affectionate look on his face, he whispered something to each of them in return, gave them both a hard squeeze, and released them. As one, they wheeled their Elven horses (who wore regular saddles but bitless bridles, to my very great interest), and trotted over to where King Eomer sat with Eowyn, Faramir and Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, who had appeared apparently from nowhere, mounted upon one of her father's more fiery chargers, and clad in breeches. Lord Liahan was also mounted and apparently in attendance upon her, a very bemused expression on his face. I rather thought I could tell him why she was there.  
  
  
  
After I had left the Prince, I stopped by the stable to say hello to Fortune, and though my saddle was brand new, I nonetheless inspected my gear and made sure it was sound. Then I went into his stall with a handful of grain, and renewed my acquaintance with him. My habit of never coming to him empty-handed had greatly hastened our friendship. Dressed in some of my fine new clothes for my interview with the Prince, I was not clad appropriately for stable work, but I spent a little time talking to him, stroking his neck, and plaiting his mane into tiny braids. I was much engrossed in this pastime when I heard light footsteps, and a feminine voice addressed me.  
  
"Lady Hethlin, could I speak to you a moment?" I turned my head to see Princess Lothiriel standing in the stable aisle, a vision in yellow silk, a string of amber beads about her neck.  
  
"Of course, Princess." I sketched her a quick bow, which she acknowledged with a nervous smile.  
  
"I hope you won't think I'm being overly personal, but there was something I wanted to ask you."  
  
"Ask lady, and I will tell you if it is too personal." I resumed making tiny braids. She hesitated, and shuffled her feet a bit, and sighed.  
  
"Father would be simply furious if he knew I was asking you this, but here you are--I saw you at court with the King of Rohan the other day, and I was wondering--are you involved with him?" I looked up at her, and raised an eyebrow.  
  
"King Eomer? Valar, no! That was the very first time we'd met. Eowyn just wanted to introduce me to him." A look of obvious relief came over her face, to be replaced almost immediately by a faint frown.  
  
"He really seemed to like you. Are you certain that you have no particular interest in him?" I went back to my braiding.  
  
"Absolutely certain. I think the King and I could be friends in time, but I am not romantically interested in him." Lothiriel sighed heavily.  
  
"That is good. Would you mind very much if I asked you something else?"  
  
"Again, ask, and I will tell you if I mind, Princess."  
  
"What sort of things does the King like? What does he like to talk about? Surely you must have spoken of something while at lunch?" These inquiries were obviously painful for her, her pretty cheeks were red with embarrassment. So I tried to be as matter-of-fact as possible.  
  
"Most of the time, we talked about horses. All of the Rohirrim are simply horse-mad, as I'm sure you already know. The rest of the time, he tried to get me to drink more beer than I really wanted, and taught me some truly filthy Rohirric words." Her eyes widened.  
  
"Really? Why ever would he do such a thing?"  
  
"He wanted to see if he could make me blush, I think. Which he succeeded in doing. Honestly, I think it was mostly to see if he could provoke Eowyn. I was his sister's friend, after all. I do not speak from experience here, but Captain Mablung grew up with five sisters, and he told me once that the one thing he loved most to do was tease their friends." He'd also said his sisters were the reason he'd gone into the military, so he'd never have to deal with such a large concentration of women in one place again, but that was hardly pertinent to this discussion.  
  
She digested this for a moment, then said rather sadly, "I cannot get him to pay me any attention at all. He is always polite to me, but he is polite to every one of those horrid court girls too, and I know he doesn't like them. I think I could get him to like me, if I could just get him to talk to me. But I am only my father's daughter to him, someone who can be politely ignored. I asked Father if I could get some new dresses made, but he said since I'd brought four wainloads of clothes to Minas Tirith behind his back, that I'd have to make do with what I have." I think I must have simply gaped at her.  
  
"Four wainloads? Lord Hurin was right?" Lothiriel got defensive.  
  
:"There are appearances to be upheld, you know. The Court expects me to dress well. And it takes space to store things properly, otherwise they get all crumpled and worn."  
  
"Of course, my lady," I said placatingly, though the Princess seemed unconvinced of my sincerity. I reflected upon the fact that I felt wealthy with one wardrobe full of new clothes, while the Princess languished on the brink of deprivation with four wain loads' worth.  
  
"Princess, I think it is my turn to ask a personal question, if it please you. Why is it you are so interested in King Eomer? Is it your desire to be the Queen of Rohan?"  
  
"No, not particularly, though I know that is what would happen," she replied seriously. "It's Eomer I want. I like the way he smiles. I like the way he laughs. I get all warm inside when I look at him." I agreed that the King of Rohan was, in fact, very easy upon the eye, and then braided some more mane, running possibilities through my head all the while. It occurred to me that if I succeeded in helping the Princess Lothiriel win her suit, after having nudged Faramir and Eowyn along, that I really ought to have some sort of title--Official Matchmaker to the Royal House of Rohan, or some such thing.  
  
"Do you know what I think I'd do if I were you?" I said to her finally. She had been leaning over the stall door watching me with a pensive look on her face, and a fine disregard for her yellow silk--but then, she had plenty of other clothes!  
  
"I think I'd take some of that money you've been spending on dresses, and send a note to the King this afternoon saying that since he's going home to Rohan, you were wondering if he would choose a yearling for you to break and train as a personal mount, and bring it back with him when he returns to Minas Tirith."  
  
"I don't see what that will do, Lady Hethlin. He knows my father has stables full of fine horses--what need have I for another?"  
  
"You tell him that you have heard that you are not a proper horseman or woman until you make your own mount, and that you want to try this--with the aid of your Master of Horse, of course. Your family has imported horses from Rohan before--it's not unlikely that you should want a horse from Rohan." The slight royal frown was back.  
  
"And what exactly does that achieve?"  
  
"Well, first of all," I said patiently, "if you play it right, you can ride out with us a way across the Pelennor tomorrow to discuss the matter with him. Tell him in your note that you'll talk to him further about it then, and he can judge how well you ride, and that will help him pick the horse best suited to you." The frown lightened, and she began to smile.  
  
"I can see how that would work," she acknowledged. "Then what?"  
  
"Then, Princess, you talk to him about the horse, and only about the horse. If he thinks this is a ruse to get his attention, he will be most irritated with you. You must get it into your mind right now that this will be a long campaign. Do you like the young ladies who do all those ridiculous things to get to your father?" She snorted.  
  
"Of course not. The shameless wenches."  
  
"Then don't turn yourself into one." The look she gave me started out indignant, then turned thoughtful. She might not have been Amrothos' intellectual equal, but none of Imrahil's children were fools.  
  
"You will be the last thing he remembers about Minas Tirith," I continued, and I could tell that she liked that idea. "Now, he may select this horse himself, or get his herdmaster to do it, and I do not know if he will deliver it to you himself. However it happens, you write him a gracious note of thanks when he returns."  
  
"That's easy enough. Then what?"  
  
'Then you train your horse. Yourself. With your own two hands."  
  
"I don't know how to do that, lady. I'm a good rider, but I don't train horses."  
  
"It's not that difficult, Princess. One thing leads into another. Your father's Master of Horse can help you." Tiring of the braiding, I came over and leaned on my arms on the stall door as well. She gave me a wry look.  
  
"So I have this horse now, and I'm training it myself--how does that get me closer to Eomer?"  
  
"Well, princess, you asked me what would get Eomer talking to you, not what would get you into his bed--not that I think he'd do that in any event, you being the Prince's daughter. So long as you have the horse, you have something to talk to him about when you see him, and the excuse to send him the occasional letter. He might even come and check on your progress from time to time. If the horse does well, you can tell him that, and if you have problems, you can write him or speak to him for advice."  
  
"But he knows that my father is one of the best horsemen in the kingdom!" Lothiriel protested. I gave her what I fondly thought of as my Evil Smile--the one I had used when threatening to feed pompous courtiers' livers to giant Eagles in my brief career as a civil servant.  
  
"Yes, and if you're asking him for advice, then you must think he's the better one." She grasped the significance of that in a hurry, and smiled evilly back in return. I continued.   
  
"Also, training this horse does some other things for you--it sets you apart from all the other court ladies, it shows you're not afraid to get your hands dirty, it says that you are responsible and patient and gentle and that you truly love horses. All of which should appeal to a Rohirrim."  
  
"Although, lady," I added warningly, "you need to keep this just about the horse, at least at first. Let him make the first move towards anything more personal, otherwise you're just as bad as those silly girls stalking your father. Try to be as honest about this as you can, and remember---you can't make someone love you back. I don't know much about love, but I know that much. All this does is get him talking to you so the two of you can decide if you care about each other--nothing more." Suddenly, I was struck by the absurdity of this situation, and laughed ruefully.  
  
"Actually, my lady, I am the last person you need to be asking advice from in matters of love, for I have no experience of it whatsoever! No husband, no lover, nothing. Though I will say that what I've suggested to you will do no harm, and even if you do not get the man, you'll still have the horse--which is a good enough ending, at least by my standards!" Lothiriel laughed, but her look was a very grave one.  
  
"I don't know, Lady Hethlin, what you've suggested somehow feels right to me. And as you said, there's nothing lost if I try this. I really appreciate you troubling yourself upon my behalf." Her soft hand reached out and patted my calloused one. "A good day to you, my lady." I inclined my head politely.  
  
"And to you princess." And Lothiriel went forth, presumably to persuade her father to part with the money for a Rohirrim horse.  
  
  
  
"Be wary, Hethlin," the King told me, as he watched Eomer and Lothiriel with a slight smile on his face. "There may very well be bands of orcs and disaffected men the further up the Anduin you get."  
  
"Aye, my lord, but consider who I'll be with--the two greatest orc hunters of the age. And the Prince is no sluggard as a warrior either--or so I am told. I've never really seen him fight."  
  
"Oh, Imrahil is.....adequate," said the King in a tone that implied he was far more than that. "or I shouldn't be sending you to him for training. Tell me--are you going to be wroth with Elrohir the whole journey?"  
  
"That rather depends on Elrohir. What did he say to you, Sire, if you don't mind my asking?"  
  
"That he had been inexcusably indiscreet and arrogant."  
  
"Well! That is pretty much the whole truth."  
  
"Elrohir is a truthful person. Perverse, provoking, irritating, contrary, fey, mischievous--but truthful." I had to laugh. The King reached up a hand, and we clasped arms.  
  
"The Valar guard you and guide you, Hethlin."  
  
"And you as well, Sire." I then joined Eomer and the rest, and we sat and waited upon Prince Imrahil, who had his two-year-old grandson seated before him upon his horse. The great grey stallion was pirouetting in place around his hindquarters, and everytime he would rock, the little boy would laugh. When they had made a complete circle, he spoke a command to the horse and dropped its reins, and it stood like a statue while he lifted the squealing toddler over his head. Altogether, a most impressive display of a well-trained animal, but as he did so, a sudden picture of my father tossing my brother and sister up in the air flashed into my mind, and I was overcome with a sudden, sharp wave of grief, the likes of which I'd not felt for two years. Rather blindly, I spun Fortune around, and in the process nearly trampled the Steward of Gondor, who took one look at my face, grabbed the reins at the bit, and quickly led us a little way away.  
  
"Are you all right, Heth?" he asked softly. I nodded my head somewhat irritably, blinking my eyes a little.  
  
"Aye. It was a really stupid thing. I was watching your uncle and your little cousin, and I got this picture of my father and brother and sister." His eyes lit with comprehension.  
  
"Ah, I see."  
  
"That hasn't happened in forever." And it was fading now as quickly as it had come. He stroked Fortune's nose gently.  
  
"Well, you've not been around children much. Memories are triggered by the strangest things. And it's been a very stressful week. I came to see you the other day, you know," he informed me gravely, "but you were asleep."  
  
"So I was told. My timing has always been thoroughly off where you're concerned, my lord." His face darkened a little.  
  
"Do you think that, given the fact that we've saved each other's lives, gone into battle together countless times, been good friends for several years now, and really have nothing left in the way of secrets between us, you could possibly start calling me by my name?" I gave him a rather surprised look.  
  
"As you like, m......Faramir." And he smiled one of his sweet smiles. I noticed the stirrup cup still in his other hand.  
  
"Anything left in that?" The idea of a drink sounded really good all of a sudden.  
  
He looked at me in disbelief at the question. "After EOMER?"  
  
"I heard that!" said the King of Rohan, riding over to us suddenly. "Show-off!" he groused at Prince Imrahil, who joined us as well after saying goodbye to Prince Elphir, Elphir's wife Mariel, his grandson, and Prince Amrothos. Imrahil just grinned, and sidepassed his horse a few steps. Eomer promptly made his stallion rear. Eowyn snorted.  
  
"Gentlemen, the Riders of the Mark await us at the Gate!" And she turned her horse, and cantered out of the courtyard with no further ado, an imminently sensible course of action I thought, given how these sorts of things tended to escalate. But then Eowyn, like myself, had spent much time in the company of large numbers of men. Elrohir and Elladan were hot on her heels, followed by Eomer, Lothiriel and Liahan. Prince Imrahil reined in beside the Steward.  
  
"Look after yourself, Faramir," he told his nephew warmly. Faramir reached up and received an embrace.  
  
"The two of you take care as well," he said, stepping back. "You owe me the entire tale of your 'mission' when you return, Uncle."  
  
"We'll have dinner, lad," Imrahil promised. Then he looked at me.  
  
"Come, Hethlin. It wouldn't do for the Rohirrim to think they had the faster horses!" Faramir sighed, and raised his hand in farewell as we set heels to our horses and charged off in the wake of the others.  
  
  
It was a great deal of fun to gallop down the main road of the City on a fine early Spring morning at a rate of speed which would have brought down the wrath of Lord Hurin's men had we been less important people. Those who had preceded us had cleared the way of wains or pedestrians, and unimpeded, we were able to catch up with them in short order. As we were closing I saw Elrohir, low over his horse's neck, actually jump an applecart that had been left in the road by its terrified owner. But it was not till I saw him toss Elladan one of the round red fruit that I realized he'd managed to grab a couple of them as he soared over, in a display of Elven dexterity that was little short of amazing. The people at the side of the road, watching us pass, cheered as they saw Eomer's livery--the inhabitants of the City knew the Rohirrim were leaving today, and wished to express their gratitude. The extent of that gratitude became apparent as we went through the Gate to the salutes of the Gate guards, and found fully half the City lining the Road, despite the early hour, waving flowering branches and banners, and cheering lustily.  
  
A roar rose up from the Rohirrim at the arrival of their monarch. His standard bearer rode forward to join us, and the van of the Riders began to pour onto the Road, their spear heads twinkling, the White Horse on Green soaring in the breeze. Though the cheering was certainly not for me, I could feel the good will and was grinning like an idiot. Fortune and the other horses danced and curvetted as well. The Rohirrim began to sing one of their deep-voiced, rolling songs, and somehow I knew it was about their home and their happiness at returning to it.  
  
"Hethlin!" I turned my head to find Eowyn, holding a restive grey in tightly, wisps of golden hair escaping from her long plait, her face alight. "I'll race your Dol Amroth sluggard down to the first turn!" I looked to the Prince for permission, and he simply smiled and nodded. As soon as he'd done so, Eowyn turned her horse's head loose, and got the jump on me. Uttering some of the curses her brother had taught me, I shouted to Fortune, and we both tore down the Anorien Road, on the first leg of the long journey to Lorien. 


	21. Anorien

Author's Note--Dwimordene had a summary for her latest chapter of Roots (highly recommended, Aragorn fans!) that described it as "character development in Fits and Starts. Which is pretty much what we have here as well. And it sure came in fits and starts! Sorry about the long wait, and I promise Chapter 22 will be more......lively?  
  
Now for the Important Stuff--the results of the Who Should Heth Nest With Poll! I must say I was flattered by all the people who made the effort to vote, and touched by their fervent defense of their choices! The final results are as follows:  
  
In first place, a tie with 21 points each--Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Captain Mablung of the Ithilien Rangers!  
  
In a close second place finish, with 20 points--Prince Elrohir of Imladris!  
  
In third place, with 15 points (a respectable showing for a young man who hasn't been seen that much!)--Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth!  
  
In fourth place, with 8 points--the quieter but still mischievous Prince Elladan of Imladris!  
  
In fifth place, with 6 points--the Lady Eowyn of Rohan!  
  
The following received votes totaling 3 points each--Faramir, Tedryn of Morthond (the archer who helped Heth back to Minas Tirith), Elladan and Elrohir as a threesome with Heth, Prince Imrahil's Armsmaster Andrahar, and A Rohirrim, Any Rohirrim.  
  
Oh yes, and Lorend got a point too.  
  
Thanks to everyone who voted, and apologies in advance, for the poll basically tells me that whoever Heth ends up with is going to make two-thirds of you unhappy! Hopefully, you'll forgive me and keep reading anyway!--Isabeau of Greenlea  
  
  
What can I say--Eowyn beat me by two lengths. Of course, I defended Fortune's honor by pointing out to her that I was twenty pounds heavier than she and wearing a hauberk as well. She just patted my hand where it rested on the reins and consoled me by saying that even if he couldn't run, she was sure Fortune danced as prettily as the rest of the Dol Amroth horses. I responded with the other of the phrases her brother had taught me at lunch, and she grinned, and looked down, and said that she'd like to oblige, but wasn't properly equipped. I made a mental note to find out what those phrases really meant before using them again. Then, being sensible women, we let the matter lie, and walked our mounts out.  
  
There had been much cheering as we raced, and some of the spectators threw Eowyn flowers as we returned back to the others, for they knew she was the slayer of the Witch-King, and they loved her. She smiled and waved, golden and lovely in the sun, and I thought it nice that she had such a moment, after so much unhappiness. I imagined Faramir was feeling slightly bereft back in Minas Tirith, deprived of both his betrothed and his uncle.  
  
"You did rather well," that self-same uncle said when I had returned to the vanguard. "You gave her quite a weight advantage. And Fortune was not bred to be a race horse." He looked over at the King of Rohan, as if expecting him to make some sort of jibe, but Eomer was deep in conversation with Lothiriel. Eowyn looked at them for a moment in surprise, then reined her horse over to Elladan and Elrohir, and began talking with them. Imrahil turned his attention back to me.  
  
"How are you and my nephew getting along since the other day?" he asked quietly, so the others could not hear.  
  
"I had not seen him until this morning, my lord prince, and he was friendly enough."  
  
"Faramir has a good heart, Hethlin. Did you really think he would end your friendship if he discovered you had feelings for him?" I gave him an irritated look.  
  
"Of course I did, sir, or I wouldn't have tried to go to so much trouble to keep it secret!" I muttered. "And I think I was doing a pretty good job of it, no matter what Prince Elrohir said!" I caught a glimpse of an Elven eye turned in my direction for a moment, and cursed Elven ears mentally.  
  
"And now that he does know, how do you feel?" the Prince inquired gently.  
  
"Relieved, in a way," I admitted. "I don't have to watch and measure everything I say and do. And maybe the King was wiser than I thought--I think going to Ithilien might have been harder than I originally believed. But I still wish he didn't know. Or at least, that he hadn't found out in such a way."  
  
Imrahil grimaced. "We noble lords did not exactly cover ourselves with glory on that day, did we?" I made a noncommittal sort of noise in reply, and said nothing more for a long time after that.  
  
About five miles out of the City, Prince Imrahil suggested to his daughter that she might want to be going back. She agreed to do so, in a pretty show of daughterly obedience, and wished the King a polite farewell, which he returned with a smile. Eomer then rode ahead with the Prince for a while, the two of them talking intently about something. I wondered if they were bargaining about the horse, or discussing his daughter's finer points.  
  
We made thirty miles the first day, which put us about twenty miles out the Anorien Gate, between the Grey Wood, and Amon Din, and by the end of the day, I felt every single foot of it. Eowyn, who had been my companion for most of the day, was even worse off, for she had been sedentary far longer than I. Only the fact that she'd been literally born to the saddle saved her from the ignominy of finishing the day in one of the supply wagons, but our conversation, which had been so cheerful in the morning, fell off to the occasional muttered curse by the time the halt was called. She did work on my Rohirric vocabulary with me--I learned the meaning of the phrases her brother had taught me, which were indeed every bit as vile as the ones Mablung used, and several new curses, the words for "raw",. "sore", "chafed", "tired", "exhausted" and the phrase for "wretched, beer-swilling, son-of-a-mare of a brother who doesn't know when to call a halt, for Valar's sake!".  
  
Fortunately for us, by the time we'd picketed, fed, watered and groomed our mounts, the efficient Riders had set camp, built fires, put up tents, and started cooking. When we came to the royal encampment, we found that roasting meat was on the spit, soon to come off, and that the kegs of beer had already been broached. Eowyn and I sat down rather gingerly by the campfire, and were forced to endure the jests of the other Riders in consequence. King Eomer told me of a highly recommended unguent for chafes and weary muscles that he happened to have in his possession, and volunteered to apply it to my affected areas personally. I politely declined, and ate my supper, and listened to the Riders, who, after they had some food and beer in them, began to sing again. I listened hard, picking up the occasional word I knew, and wondered how long it would take to master the language in full. Truthfully, it was a lovely sounding tongue--aside from the way it lent itself to invective!  
  
Eowyn and I, being the only ladies, had actually been given a tent to ourselves, and after supper, we were informed that hot water was being prepared for us to wash up. Eowyn asked if I would like to go first, and though it seemed discourteous to precede the princess, I said I would like to. It had occurred to me that the first one washed could slide into bed and preserve her privacy, while the second one would be bathing with the first one in the tent, unless the first one chose to leave again. So I scampered into the tent, washed off quickly, changed into clean breeches and a shirt, and stuck my head back out to tell her I was done.  
  
When she came in, I was already in my bedroll, and turned my back to her politely so she could bathe. There was much splashing of water in washbasin, then she asked, "Hethlin, are you still awake?"  
  
"Aye, my lady."  
  
"Do you like my brother?"  
  
"Aye, I think he's funny. Why?"  
  
"Because I think he likes you. I'd much rather have you for a sister than one of those court ladies--even that cousin of Faramir's. Think of the possibilities--we could terrorize Minas Tirith together!" There was a sound of fabric moving over skin--she was toweling off.   
"You know why that can't happen, Eowyn. Besides, I'm the matchmaker here!"  
  
"I thought you might be going to Lorien to have your....difficulty taken care of. I thought perhaps Lord Elrohir had arranged it."  
  
"He's going to try to arrange it for me, though even if he does, we are not certain the Elves could do anything about it. But that's not why I'm going to Lorien, and I can't tell you any more about the reason for the trip."  
  
"I suppose it's the King's business, since you're in courier garb, and the Prince is with you as well," she said sagely. "And I will not press you further. But I meant what I said. I think you'd make a good Queen of Rohan. And my brother is a good man."  
  
"That's not what you were saying this afternoon!"  
  
"Those were my saddle-sores talking, and you know it!'  
  
"I know, Eowyn. And your brother is a very good man. He's handsome, and brave and very loving, judging by how he feels about you. A woman could do far, far worse."  
  
"Well, he could do far worse than you as well."  
  
"What?" I scoffed, " Even with my terrible head for drink?"   
  
"That is something of a shortcoming," she conceded gravely, "but your other good qualities do outweigh it."  
  
"Glad I am to hear that! And to think the boys in the Beacon Hills thought I'd never amount to anything!" I chuckled. There was an answering quiet laugh, then some moving around and rustling for a few moments.  
  
"There, I'm decent," she said. I rolled gingerly over to find her lowering herself with equal care onto her bedroll. "I'm not Dunadan, and therefore can't claim to be foresighted like my betrothed, but I get the feeling that tomorrow is going to be very painful!" she groaned.  
  
"Well, I am a Dunadan, and my foresight tells me your feeling is absolutely right! Good night, Eowyn."   
"And a good night to you as well, Hethlin."  
  
  
The next morning was every bit as bad as we thought it was. Both of us stretched in the tent before we went out, but our stiffness was still quite apparent, and once again we were subject to the mockery of the Riders. Prince Imrahil, however, was more genuinely concerned.  
  
"Hethlin, are you going to be able to do this?" he asked me quietly. "Perhaps the King should have considered more carefully--it's only been a few days since you were assaulted."   
  
"Aye, my lord, but I've had the advantage of Elven healing." And I rolled up my sleeve and showed him my arm wound, which was scabbed over and healing quite cleanly. I bandaged it now before putting on my hauberk merely to protect it from rubbing. "My problem isn't the assault, it's that I haven't ridden this hard or this far in a while. I'll suffer today, but I guarantee you sir, I'll start feeling better tomorrow. And I'll be able to keep up, never you fear."  
  
"In a way, this trip is a good thing. By the time we get back from it, I'll be fit enough to start training at Dol Amroth. And I'm beginning to think that trying to second-guess the King about anything is a bad idea!" Imrahil laughed, admitted I had a point, and went off to see to his horse. I could hear Eomer and Eowyn having a quiet argument in Rohirric--I didn't know enough words to be able to tell what was going on by translation, but he'd gestured towards the wagons a time or two, and she'd shaken her head vehemently, so the context was clear enough. Eventually, she came over to get her breakfast, grumbling under her breath.  
  
"Tried to make you ride in the wagons, did he?" I asked, amused. She favored me with her narrow-eyed stare.  
  
"Indeed he did! As if saddle-sores ever killed anyone! How does he think I'm to get my seat back, sitting in a wagon? Of course it will hurt at first, but I'll get over it!"   
  
I grinned. "Ah, but you are a frail flower of womanhood, and need protection!" The stare became a glare.  
  
"Continue as you've begun, eagle-girl, and you'll get that sparring match I promised you weeks ago!" I laughed.  
  
"Any time, horse-lady!" The two of us regarded each other for a moment as we chewed our breakfast, thinking about the prospect of violent physical effort during our current state of soreness. Finally Eowyn spoke.  
  
"Tomorrow?" I nodded.  
  
"That sounds good." After a moment's thought, I proposed, "The day after?" She nodded.  
  
"That sounds even better." And we finished our breakfast in perfect amity.   
  
  
We marched much harder and further that day, covering fifty miles before dusk fell and camp was set. Across the Road from our camp, to the south lay the Druadan Forest and the old beacon hill of Eilenach. On the morrow, we would pass the third beacon, Nardol, and thus come close to the lands I'd grown up in. Consequently, I was somewhat uneasy as night fell. Over supper, Eomer told Prince Imrahil, Elrond's sons and myself of the encounter with the Wild Men on the way to Minas Tirith, but though we heard the occasional distant rumble of drums in the night, none of those secretive folk showed themselves at the camp.  
  
Eowyn was nodding over her supper, so I deferred to her in the order of washing up. After about half an hour, when she had not reappeared to tell me she was finished, I called softly into the tent, and getting no answer, went within to find her already sound asleep in her bedroll. A slight pungency to the air told me that she at least had availed herself of her brother's ointment. So I disposed of her wash water, got some for myself, cleaned up, and borrowed the magical unguent, though I did not avail myself of the royal applicator. Then I too gratefully sought my bed, thinking extreme weariness would guarantee a sound night's sleep.  
  
But it was not to be. Deep in the night, I found myself trapped in one of those dreams where the dreamer is an impotent witness to some disaster, unable to change the outcome no matter how they try. I will not describe what I dreamed in any great detail--suffice it to say that I had often wondered what would have happened had I returned from the hunt in time to aid my father and mother, and in this dream I did so, but was unable to do aught but watch as they were slain. It was hardly the first time nightmares had driven me awake, but at least I did so quietly this time, merely sitting bolt upright with a loud gasp. I looked over at Eowyn, but she did not so much as stir, so deeply asleep was she.  
  
I was trembling, and in a cold sweat, and did not think that sleep would be possible any time soon, so I pulled on my boots, and slipped silently out of the tent. All was quiet, and a light spring fog lay over the ground. I could hear sentries making the rounds, and champing and stomping from the direction of the horse lines, but nothing else. I went over to the fire pit, where embers were still glowing, added a couple of sticks of wood, and proceeded to try to poke it back up. After a bit, the wood caught, I added some larger pieces, then huddled over my handiwork to warm myself.  
  
As I knelt there, I missed Faramir with a pain that was almost physical, for I knew that he would have been able to talk with me about the dream in a way that soothed me enough so that sleep could eventually come. When one is subject to occasional nightmares about a tragic past, having a commander who is himself prone to involuntary visions about age-old disasters is not necessarily a bad thing. I wondered how my infirmity would play among the Swan Knights.  
  
A movement across the fire from me caught my eye, and I looked up and saw Elrohir standing there, his eyes hooded. He looked very alien and arcane, his features lit from below by the firelight, and said nothing for some moments, retreating back into the shadow, only to return with two camp chairs, and drag them close to the fire. One of them was Eomer's--intricately carved, with horses' heads decorating the ends of the arms. It was of throne-like proportions, and I suppose actually was the traveling throne of Rohan, but Elrohir dropped gracefully into it as one who had the divine right to be there. He gestured that I should take the other, and after a moment's hesitation, I did so.  
  
*I felt your dream, Snowsteel.* came his voice softly in my head.  
  
"I am sorry if I troubled your--" He interrupted me with an abrupt shake of the head.  
  
*The other way, Snowsteel. After your little display in Minas Tirith, I think you can do it. Such gifts only grow stronger when used.* So I looked him in the eye, and suddenly was caught up in the starlight.  
  
*I am.... sorry..... if I troubled your sleep.... my lord Prince.* Communicating in this way felt very strange. He flashed me a sudden grin.  
  
*Very good, Snowsteel! Though you'll pardon me if I say your claim of contrition does not exactly ring true.*  
  
*I'm still angry with you.* There, that was easier. Strong feelings were more easily expressed than complicated concepts.  
  
*And rightly so,* he conceded. *Have I damaged your friendship with the Steward irreparably?*  
  
*It's too early to tell yet. He seemed to be trying to reassure me that he wasn't going to stop being my friend the other day, when we said goodbye. But things may change later on--I just don't know.* Though it came slowly, I was able to get all of the speech out in a reasonably coherent fashion now.  
  
*You have my apology, if that turns out to be the case.*  
  
*With all due respect, my lord Prince, your apology would be small consolation.* I stood up and stretched, my abused muscles protesting strongly.  
  
Elrohir rested his elbows on the arms of the throne, and templed his fingertips, regarding me broodingly.  
  
*Would you go there, Snowsteel?*  
  
*Where?*  
  
*You know whereof I speak. Have you been there since it happened?* The blood chilled to ice in my veins.  
  
"No," I whispered aloud, wrenching my eyes from him, suddenly unable to bear the contact. "No, I haven't."  
  
"What happened to the bodies of your kin?" he asked quietly, using speech once more. I sat back down again wearily.  
  
"Faramir sent Mablung and a party of Rangers to deal with them. It was kind of him, for as you can see, we lived nowhere near his patrol area, and he had to send enough of them that they'd be safe. It quite disrupted his schedule till they returned."  
  
"Did you not go with them to lead the way?"  
  
"No, for he sent them soon after he rescued me, and I was too ill to travel. I gave a description as best I could, and Mablung found the house, or so he said. From the sound of things, he got it right." I took a moment to swallow hard, then continued. "There was naught left but bones, in any event. He said they buried them all together in one large grave. As good a way of doing it as any, I suppose." Elrohir gave me what was, for him, a sympathetic look.  
  
"But you have never actually seen where they were laid to rest?"  
  
"Nay. The Enemy began to try our defenses more often after that, and there was no time and no men to spare for such a frivolous journey. After all, it was not as if they were going anywhere. And for a while there, it looked as if we'd all be joining them in graves ourselves." Elrohir sat up and leaned forward, elbows on knees.  
  
"Yes, things did look a bit grim, didn't they? But there is time for such 'frivolity' now, Snowsteel. If Elladan were to lend you his horse, you and I could leave in the morning while he and the Prince proceeded with the army, and the day after we would be caught up with them again, and no time lost, for Elven steeds are surpassingly swift. It could be done, if you wished it so."  
  
I heard this proposal with mixed emotions. Part of me did wish to see where and how my family had been disposed of, and part of me feared to go anywhere near the place, lest I be overwhelmed by the horror and sorrow of my memories. Finally, I said, "I would like to do so, but my time is not my own to spend. The Lord of Dol Amroth holds my sworn word, and he must give his leave first." Elrohir's eyes flashed in the firelight, and I caught a bit of rebellious anger through our link--the son of Elrond was not used to asking anyone for leave to do what he thought should be done--but after a moment, he nodded.  
  
"Estel would not appreciate it, should I anger one of his great lords by abducting you." I snorted.  
  
"A bit late to be coming to that understanding, after the way you treated the Steward when I was injured! But I supposed even an old Elf can learn new ways." Another spike of instantaneous offense through the link, followed by rueful amusement.  
  
"I may have called myself an old fool to you once upon a time, Snowsteel, but I'll have you know that to some of my folk, I am quite the impetuous youth! A mere stripling, rash and wild!" He grinned that raffish grin suddenly, and in spite of myself, I had to smile.  
  
"Goodness! Really? Such a possibility never occurred to me!"  
  
"Yes, well, you've never seen my father in full cry! But I will speak to the Swan Prince in a few hours, and see if I can gain his consent. In the meantime, you need to get some rest--it is not all that long since you were ill."  
  
"I do not think I can sleep yet."  
  
"I can aid you with that, you know." I looked at him somberly.  
  
"Actually, I would appreciate that." He nodded, and I was starting to rise from the chair to return to my tent when his two fingers touched my forehead as they'd done once before, and all went dark.  
  
  
I was awakened by a hand shaking my shoulder vigorously. As I started up, the hand covered my mouth for a moment. I looked up and saw Eowyn, her eyes dancing, and a finger held to her lips. I nodded understanding, and she lowered her hand. Somehow, I had been transported back to my tent, and tucked into bed. I would have been willing to go there under my own power, and then have him aid me to sleep, but Elrohir had made the decision for me, as usual. I sighed quietly.  
  
After a moment, I heard voices outside the tent. Judging from the direction, the speakers were close to the fire, probably eating breakfast.  
  
"This has come up somewhat suddenly, my lord Elrohir," Prince Imrahil was saying. "Why did I hear nothing of this before now?"  
  
"I do not believe Hethlin intended to tell you about it at all, my lord Prince. Nor myself. But she had a nightmare last night and woke me, and we spoke of it. Do you know, she is not even certain if the Rangers buried the right family? Apparently, there was more than one homestead in the area."  
  
"I had no idea we were so close to the place. And I can certainly sympathize with Hethlin. But are we not under some pressure of time? Could this errand not wait upon our return? For it has waited near four years already."  
  
"I do not know if we will be traveling the same route upon our return, my lord. It is likely, but not entirely certain. And if we do as I propose, no time will be lost."  
  
"Ah yes, the Elven horses. Has your brother given his consent to this? And how safe do you think the two of you will be, riding out alone?"  
  
"Elladan has agreed to lend Nimfaun to Hethlin. Of course, I haven't asked Nimfaun yet!" The Prince made a little snorting chuckle. "As to the other--I have wandered the Wilderland, alone and in my brother's company for the better part of two thousand years, and I am still here. There is nothing in Anorien for me to fear."  
  
"Very well then. If you can do as you say, I give my assent." There was a moment's silence, then Imrahil spoke once more, and there was a warning in his tone. "With one condition."  
  
"And that would be?"   
  
"You said once that my nephew was the mule caught between two mangers. So I am sure you will not mind if I observe in turn that you seem very much like a man confronted with a rare dish whose flavor he is not sure that he likes. He tastes it and tastes it and tastes it yet again, finding in the end that he is still not certain if it is to his liking, but that there is nothing left for anyone else. I would rather that you not do that to my esquire."  
  
"And is it because Hethlin is your esquire that you express your concern, or is there another reason?" Elrohir's voice had gone all silky-dangerous. Eowyn looked at me, her eyes wide. I shrugged my shoulders, having no idea where all this was going.  
  
"There is no other reason. She is sworn to me, and she is of an age with Lothiriel. Anything else between us would be inappropriate," snapped Imrahil. Elrohir laughed.  
  
"My lord prince, three-quarters of the maidens pursuing you at court are your daughter's age, and no one there thinks anything amiss. It has always been the prerogative of men of wealth and power to possess beauty and youth--even if they are not young themselves." Eowyn and I held our breath and waited for the explosion, but none came. Instead, suprisingly, Imrahil's reply was in the mildest of voices.  
  
"Prince Elrohir, is it your desire that I take back my permission? Because if it is, you are certainly going about it the right way."  
  
Elrohir backed down swiftly. "Then I shall cease any such efforts, my lord, and thank you for your understanding and patience. Would you be so kind as to tell Hethlin when she awakens? I fear she may be abed for a while yet--she did not have a restful night."  
  
"I will tell her, though I wouldn't count on being able to predict such things, my lord Elrohir. Your record is less than perfect there."  
  
"How thoughtful of you to remind me, Prince Imrahil." Silky-dangerous was back. "A good morning to you."  
  
"And to you, Prince Elrohir." Was that a somewhat satisfied tone I heard in my lord's voice?   
  
Eowyn and I could hear Elrohir moving away but, uncertain of where Imrahil was, we kept our voices to a whisper.  
  
"What was all that about?" she asked me. I slid out of my bedroll, and started pulling on my stockings and boots.  
  
"We're about thirty miles from my family's farm. I had a nightmare about what happened last night, and Elrohir woke up too. We talked for a while, and he asked me if I wanted to go back there, make sure my family was buried properly. That's what he was asking the Prince for--permission to take me with him."  
  
"So you get to ride one of those lovely Elven horses? Some people have all the luck, Hethlin! And I must say," and here her whisper took a teasing note, "it does sound romantic! You and the Elf Lord all alone for two days and a night!"  
  
"About as romantic as someone taking their dog out for a walk!" I snorted, "because that's how he looks at me, you know. I'm a big, amusing pet. And since when are you so worried about romance? Oh, I know what this is--Mablung told me about it. He says nothing gets a girl so interested in getting all her friends wedded as getting wedded herself." Eowyn blushed furiously of a sudden.  
  
"Valar, I am being a silly female, aren't I?" she exclaimed in appalled realization. I patted her on the shoulder.  
  
"I rather like it. It's sweet. And I imagine Faramir would like it too. So you just save up all those romantic feelings and blushes for the next time you see him. And let the matchmaker worry about making her own match--if she should ever decide she needs one. By the way, do you do this sort of thing often? The eavesdropping, I mean." Eowyn grimaced.  
  
"You can thank Grima for that. He taught me early on that knowledge is power, and the best knowledge is that which others do not know you have. I'm afraid old habits die hard."  
  
"The only thing I'd thank Grima with is the edge of my sword, should I ever have the poor pleasure of meeting him. Or perhaps a bow and a quiver full of arrows," I declared, and Eowyn grinned. And with that, I finished putting on my stockings and boots, and we both went in search of breakfast.  
  
  
Prince Imrahil was sitting by the fire, finishing the last of his breakfast when I came out. Though only in his shirt sleeves, he nonetheless had a somewhat severe air about him this morning, and I decided that formal was better, and bowed.  
  
"Good morning, my lord." He acknowledged me with a polite nod, and indicated an empty chair beside him. I sat, and he half-rose from his seat, and bowed to Eowyn.  
  
"Good morning, my lady," he said, and she smiled and nodded back, then went to where the Rohirrim were cooking, and grabbed a couple of plates of sausages and eggs and bread, and two tankards. Bringing them all back, she gave one set to me, then sat down herself upon Imrahil's other side. Bemused, I watched as she gave the Prince a suddenly demure look from under golden lashes.  
  
"Good morning, Uncle," was all she said, but Imrahil's air of severity melted away.   
  
"Did you sleep well last night, Eowyn?" he asked kindly. "You went to bed very early. And how are you feeling now?" She smiled.  
  
"I slept very deeply last night, and I feel much better today. I think that riding a great distance will not be so difficult now." She applied herself daintily to her breakfast.  
  
"Well I hope the same holds true for you, Hethlin, for you must ride fast and hard today, and tomorrow as well." Imrahil told me.  
  
"Indeed, sir?" I mumbled around a mouthful of bread.  
  
"Yes. I spoke to Lord Elrohir this morning, and agreed that the two of you could make the side-trip to your parents' homestead."  
  
"Thank you, my lord. I appreciate that." Having swallowed, my speech was somewhat clearer this time.  
  
"I hope that you will find things to your satisfaction there. And that you'll be careful."  
  
"Careful about stray brigands and orcs, sir? Or careful about Prince Elrohir?" He gave me an wry look.  
  
"Both, preferably." I grinned at him, and continued eating my breakfast, while he and Eowyn discussed wedding dates and plans, and Faramir in general. When finished, I got up and went to the tent to arm and pack. Eomer came over after a while and joined them, taking my old seat.  
  
Long experience made the process a swift one. I came out fully armed and armored, and carrying my saddlebags a few minutes later. The King's message pouch I presented to Prince Imrahil with a bow.   
  
"It would be safer were you to hold this for now, I think, my lord." And he nodded his agreement. Eomer gave me a blinding smile.  
  
"I understand you're leaving us for the next little bit, lady. Do ride back and let us know if you run into any trouble. My sword arm cries out for exercise." From the way he looked me up and down, I suspected his sword arm wasn't the only part wanting exercise, but I smiled politely nonetheless.  
  
"Didn't you get enough of that at the Black Gate?" I asked him. The grin widened.  
  
"That was what, a whole seven weeks ago? The lust for battle runs hot in Rohirric veins, my lady. And if on my way home I can do my royal cousin Aragorn a little favor by cleaning the odd pocket of darkness out of Anorien, then it is my duty and pleasure to do so." I shook my head.  
  
"You are a terrible man, my lord King! I hope you will not take it amiss if I hope we have a boring journey."  
  
"There is something to be said for a quiet journey if it brings you back to us more swiftly, lady." At that, Eowyn looked at me and winked, while Prince Imrahil gave his royal counterpart a hard stare.  
  
"Eomer, are you flirting with my esquire?" Eomer absolutely beamed.  
  
"Why yes, I am, Imrahil. Perceptive of you to notice. You're from Gondor, tell me--how do you think I'm doing so far?" The Prince just shook his head.  
  
"Flee. Flee now, Hethlin," he said to me with a rueful smile. "And know that you have my sympathy. You appear to be caught between air and fire!"  
  
"And everyone knows that air is the element of intellect," Elrohir purred as he strode up, two saddled Elven horses trailing behind him of their own accord. Both were greys, but Elrohir's horse was a dark dapple while Elladan's horse Nimfaun, or Whitecloud, was the lighter of the two, and indeed almost white. I looked at the Elf-horse with his huge dark eyes, arched neck and dished face, and hesitated, unsure how to proceed, for there appeared to be more intelligence in those eyes than was usual for a common horse. I looked to Elrohir for guidance, and he gave me an evil smile that said I was on my own. I could see Elladan strolling over towards us, eating a piece of bread, and got an idea. Setting my things down, I went over to where the cooks were cleaning up and dousing the fire, and begged one of the last pieces of bread, and honey to smear upon it. With this sticky treat, I returned to Nimfaun, and addressed him in Elvish, much to Eowyn and Eomer's amusement.  
  
"Good morning to you, Nimfaun," I said to him slowly and carefully, for my Elvish was not the best. "I was wondering if you would be kind enough to bear me for a time?" And I extended my hand with the bread to him. After a moment's hesitation, the horse stepped silently forward, and his soft lips opened, and lifted the bread delicately from my hand. His dark eyes regarded me intently as he chewed, and when he finished, the small nose came forward again, and the tongue neatly licked the remnants of the honey from my palm. Very carefully, I reached out and touched his nose. All horses' noses are soft, but the Elf horse's was by far the softer, even as Elrohir's hair was softer than any mortal's. Slowly, I slid my hand up, and gently scratched the center of his forehead, and his eyes closed in pleasure.  
  
"You're in," said Elladan with a smile as he came up, and I heard Prince Imrahil chuckle. "What sort of rituals must I enact with your beast, Hethlin?" I laughed.  
  
"He's just a regular horse, Prince Elladan, so speeches are not necessary. But he does love bread!"  
  
"I'll remember that." And he went over to talk to his brother briefly while I tied my things upon Nimfaun. Once they were secure, I swung up, trying to land as lightly in the saddle as I could. Nimfaun stood like a statue till I was aboard, then moved with only the slightest direction. His walk was smooth as glass, and I could already tell that two days on him were going to spoil me for a merely mortal horse. Elrohir had mounted, and I looked back at Imrahil, Eomer, and Eowyn with the silly, delighted grin of a horsewoman in love, while they waved and looked slightly envious.   
  
"Thank you, Prince Elladan!," I called, and Elladan waved back with a knowing smile.  
  
"How do we go, Hethlin?" Elrohir asked me.  
  
"About ten miles past Nardol, then due south, my lord." He nodded, and lifted his horse into a canter that was smooth and swift as the wind, and I did the same, for the first time in four years headed home. 


	22. The Beacon Hills

Author's Note--Many thanks to Dwimordene for letting me use her Dunedain burial customs, and for much pushing and shoving!  
  
So it was I returned to the lands of my birth riding an immortal's horse and in the company of a fellow straight out of fable. Nimfaun and Alagos, Elrohir's horse, were swift and tireless indeed. We sped up the road for a way, then turned due south, for my homestead had lain roughly halfway between the beacon hills Erelas and Nardol, at the very foot of the White Mountains, and by the time the sun had fallen but two hours from noon, we were riding up a trail I remembered well. It had become somewhat overgrown in the last four years, and I did not see any sign that anyone had visited or settled nearby. We rode with our bows strung and our eyes watchful, for though this land lay within the bounds of Gondor, long had it been since any from the Tower of Guard could be spared to patrol it, and it lay too far from the border of Rohan to derive any benefit from the patrols of the Horse Lords.  
  
Though the day was a warm one, I felt cold, and there was an ache in the pit of my stomach that grew as we drew closer to my home. Elrohir and I had said little to nothing during the journey, though he would look at me from time to time as if assessing my state of mind. Now, though he was still silent, I felt a bit of sympathy and calm through the link.  
  
"We're close now," I told him, and he nodded his understanding. We cantered up a somewhat steep hill and rounded a sharp curve in which some tall fir trees grew, and there it was.  
  
Here at the foot of the mountains, stone there was in plenty to build with, and my father had used it to construct both the house and the barn. So they still stood, though their stones were soot-stained and their roofs had been utterly consumed by the fires. The house was smaller than I remembered. Nimfaun halted, and I slid off of him, and walked forward, knowing that he would not stray. I stopped at the doorstep, and laid my hand upon the jamb, but did not go in. There was nothing of interest within--all was burned timber and stone.  
  
"Snowsteel, is there water for the horses somewhere near?" Elrohir asked quietly.  
  
"Aye, there's a brook over there to your right, Lord Elrohir. If you listen, you can hear it." He listened for a moment, then nodded, and set off in the right direction, the horses following him. I began to search the area immediately surrounding the house for the grave, but found nothing, and began to be concerned. Then I heard Elrohir calling from the meadow by the brook.  
  
"Snowsteel! Over here!" I followed his voice and saw him standing by a copse of fir trees in the middle of the sun-drenched meadow. It had been one of my favorite play-places as a child, palace and fortress and forest in one. Now it was a graveyard. In the clearing in the center of the dark trunks was a large, but neatly piled cairn. Afternoon light and shadow dappled it, and the breeze murmured through the branches. Slowly, I moved into the clearing, and knelt by the cairn.  
  
"The Rangers did well. This is where I would have put them, I think." Elrohir nodded.  
  
"It is a beautiful place," he agreed in his lilting voice. "Keep your bow to hand--I'll be close by." I nodded, and he departed, to care for the horses, I assumed.  
  
I sat by the cairn for what was left of the rest of the afternoon, talking to my family of what had passed over the last four years as if they were actually there and breaking into tears intermittently. I missed them all terribly, but probably the greatest grief was that my little brother and sister had died so horribly at such an early age. Father had been a Ranger, and understood about the possibility of violent death, as had Mother, who had been raised among Rangers. But Hiranthel and Derulin had known nothing of darkness or torment or death, till they came to experience it firsthand. So I wept for them, and every other child slain untimely in the war, and every person of peaceful intent who had perished because they could not defend themselves, and over the course of that afternoon I came to understand something.  
  
Despite what I had told Faramir in the Houses of Healing, I was never going to be a horse-breeder, or a farmer. I had started learning the sword to please my father, and because I proved apt to it, then kept it in hand for vengeance's sake, always intending to lay it aside when the war was over. But even had the King not wished me to guard his Queen, the blood of near forty generations of Rangers flowed in my veins, and the instinct to protect and defend the helpless was well-nigh irresistible. And now that the King had come again, there was much work to be done within his kingdom and beyond it, to establish his rule and his law and enable people to go about the business of peaceful living once more. Faramir had laid down his sword to serve the King, but I, I would serve him best if I kept hold of mine and my bow.  
  
Sunset came early this side of the mountains, and the shadows were long when Elrohir returned to me, bearing a bundle wrapped in cloth.  
  
"What is that?" I asked, and he unrolled the cloth, which turned out to be one of his tunics, and contained various young plants all tangled together.  
  
"I have been busy this afternoon, and with your permission, will make a contribution to this place. But before I do, here." And he threw me a cloth that had been moistened in brook water.  
  
"Wash your face--you look a fright."  
  
"Thank you ever so much! I always look a fright compared to you. Everybody does."  
  
He looked at me and smiled as sweet a smile as I'd ever seen on his face. Rather bemused, I watched as he drew his dagger, and with that inappropriate tool, began to plant his gleanings, moving around all sides of the cairn, and whispering in Elvish as he did so, until they were all set into the earth.  
  
"Won't they just die, with no one here to care for them?" I asked him when he'd finished, and come back to kneel beside me.  
  
"While true it is that I am very good at little but the killing of orcs, I do possess a few small gifts," he declared, dusting his hands of dirt ostentatiously. "Grandmother could have this place blooming riotously in five minutes, but I can at least give these a strong start. They will flourish in time, and they are of divers sorts, so there should be something blooming here most any time but winter." I stared at him, astonished at his thoughtfulness, and he gave me an ironic look.  
  
"Don't get too used to this. I'm sure before the evening's out, I'll have done something to infuriate you again."  
  
"Do all your prophecies have to come true?" I asked curiously, dabbing at my face with the cloth gratefully, for it was rather red and hot from all the weeping. "I like you much better when you're being nice."  
  
"Snowsteel, if you would ride with me, you must take me as the sum of all my parts, not just"-- and here he held up his little finger-- "the nice one. But, as it turns out, in exercising my nice part this afternoon, I tickled a couple of trout out of that brook of yours. And night draws near. Do you wish to set up camp here, or somewhere else?"  
  
I considered for a moment. "I don't much wish to camp right here. I had a favorite spot about a mile up that spur of the mountain, if you don't mind traveling a bit more. You'd probably like it. We just follow the course of the brook a way." He nodded, and got to his feet, then pulled me up. We went and resaddled the horses, and he retrieved the trout from where he'd strung them in a pool with a spare bowstring. Then we set off up the mountain path in the gathering dark.  
  
  
My favorite spot was a small waterfall that cascaded into a pool, which then poured out as the brook. There was a grassy sward beside it, and it was overhung with trees of various sorts. Elrohir was very pleased indeed.  
  
"We will eat first, then bathe later! Wonderful, Snowsteel!" And he set off to find firewood while I dressed the trout. Before long, we had a small but cheerful blaze going, and the fish were roasting on sticks. The horses had been unsaddled, and made their way unsupervised back down to the meadow to graze. He saw my concerned look and grinned.  
  
"They will allow none to touch them, but will come back to us at need. Here--let's put a little of this on the fish." I looked over, and he was peeling some sort of strange, pebbly orange fruit with his fingers.  
  
"What is that?"  
  
"This is the food of the Valar!" It must have been, for he was staring at it worshipfully. "Actually, it's an orange. The Haradrim grow them on the coast in the few places where they have water. The Haradrim ambassador brought some to Estel."  
  
The strange fruit separated rather cleverly into sections, and he took two and squeezed one over each trout. The smell was very interesting as drops of the juice sizzled into the fire. Then he took another section, and popped it into my mouth. I bit down, and found the fruit to be very juicy and thirst-quenching, slightly tart and sweet at once. Elrohir was eating a section of his own with an expression of enraptured bliss, and when he finished, he sighed and said, "If they don't have these in Valinor, I'm not going." The sections had seeds, and I noticed he kept his carefully, and picked mine up from where I'd spat them on the ground.  
  
"I'm going to take these to Grandmother, and see if she or Grandfather can grow me some." I looked at him quizzically.  
  
"You mean, as long as your people have been here, they've never had these things?"  
  
He shook his head. "They don't grow up North. Too cold. And what Elf in his right mind would go to Harad? But Grandmother exercises a great deal of control over Lothlorien--she might be able to make a small spot where some would grow." I raised my eyebrows at that. Elrohir sighed. "Then again, she might just tell me she had better things to waste her time on. And she won't be here much longer, in any event." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I wonder......South Ithilien, perhaps? The Prince of Ithilien can be as obtuse as he likes, if he'll grow me some oranges! I'll do anything for him or to him that he wants."  
  
"ELROHIR!" His grin blazed wickedly.   
  
"Ha! Worried, are you? Fear not, Snowsteel, your precious Steward's virtue is safe from me."   
  
"He is NOT my precious Steward." Elrohir set the other half of the orange carefully aside on a flat rock.  
  
"We'll have that for dessert. And of course he's your precious Steward. Just because you don't have him doesn't mean you don't covet him." I started setting out the bread and other supper items we'd carried with us, putting them down a bit roughly. That hadn't taken long at all. Infuriating Elf.   
  
"Fine. I covet him. I'll get over it in time. I don't see what business it is of yours, anyway. You know now that he wasn't leading me along, that he really didn't know I loved him--and you certainly took care of that little problem, didn't you?"  
  
"Indeed I did--and I see that it will be a long time before I'm forgiven for that particular transgression! I am curious, though--intend you to take the King of Rohan up on his not- so-subtle offer? Or do you intend to sit back and let the little cygnet from Dol Amroth have him?"  
  
"What possible concern is that of yours?" He pulled out the wineskin, and the cups, and poured us some.  
  
"Just that you seem to be missing out on a golden opportunity. You have been cursing your childlessness all along, and rightly so, because it did cost you the man you love. And I will do all that I can to convince Father or Grandmother, or both of them, to mend that for you. But in this one small space of time, it is a boon, Snowsteel. You can claim a man's freedom to do what he will without worrying about the consequences. You can let the King of Rohan ride you like a wild filly, or brighten Imrahil's declining years." That last part was decidedly acid. I pulled one of the fish sticks off the fire, and slapped it into his hand. As he closed his fingers around it, I grasped the little one, and rubbed it fiercely.  
  
"The Nice Elrohir can come back any time now!" He laughed, and I picked up my own fish, and started to eat. It was very, very good. After I'd had a couple of bites, I leaned back on one arm and looked at him.  
  
"Actually, there is no golden opportunity, my lord Prince. You seem to have the idea that I am seeking a bedmate desperately, and that is not the case. I was raped by orcs, and the only man I've ever felt physical passion for does not return my feelings. Also,my father and mother did not bring me up to be a slattern. I like King Eomer well enough, but not so well I desire to sleep with him. And Prince Imrahil is my sworn lord, so there may be naught between us, not that he's ever given me any indication he was so inclined. And even if I wished to be with either man, or, in fact, any man, there's the matter of you." Elrohir blinked.  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Aye, you. Prince Imrahil is quite right--you are determined that none shall 'taste' of me until you've decided if you want to do anything." The elf-lord frowned.  
  
"It would be refreshing if just for once you would be asleep when you were supposed to be, Snowsteel."  
  
"Nay, what would be refreshing, Prince Elrohir, is if you would stop speaking of me within earshot, then acting as if it were my fault when I overhear and embarrass you!" I snapped back. He blinked a couple of more times, and I continued.  
  
"I dare not be with any man while you are here in Gondor, for you seem to be unable to resist meddling in my affairs. You got along well enough with Prince Imrahil before I swore fealty to him, and now you seek to bait him at every opportunity. Valar knows what you'd do to a man I actually fancied! So until you return to the North, I dare not seek the company of another. And when you do go, I hopefully will no longer be barren, and thus will need to be as careful of such things as any other woman. So--no golden opportunity." Elrohir chewed his fish in silence for some moments, his face grave and uncharacteristically troubled. I took the opportunity to eat more of mine, then plowed on once more.  
  
"It is almost as if you were jealous, though I don't feel that from you. I don't feel that you're in love with me either--although I suppose that old and clever as you are, you could hide something from me that you didn't want me to know. All I do know is that Faramir might have been the mule between the mangers, but you're the dog sitting square in the middle of one, having no use yourself for what's in it, but not wanting anyone else to have it either. And I'm tired of it." That won me a warning look, but I ignored it.  
  
"You claim to have put the piece back in the game, and you've complained about how everyone else is playing, but you've not had the nerve to enter the game yourself. If you want to be my friend, fine. If you want to be my lover--we'll talk about it. But either way, I need to be in the relationship too. It can't all be you giving me things, and running my life because you feel you have the right to do so because you've given me things. You have to let me give you things too." Hesitantly, I reached across the space between us, and touched his cheek with my hand. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes wide and dark in the firelight, then sighed, and closed them, and leaned into my hand a little. I could feel the feather of his lashes against my thumb.  
  
"You know," I said softly, my hand cupping his cheek, "we have a saying in the Ithilien Rangers--'Are you going to shoot that bow, or just scratch your arse with it?'"  
  
Elrohir's head shot up, and he stared at me for a moment. Manic hilarity flared in his eyes, and he started laughing, pausing finally to take a long draught of wine.  
  
"Very well, Snowsteel, since it's well past time I asked--what do you wish of me?"  
  
"I don't want you to be in love with me," I replied swiftly. His eyebrow arched up.  
  
"Might I ask why?"  
  
"Because you're the son of Elrond, and I've talked to the King about your sister, and I don't want that to happen to you." The pain that suddenly flared unexpectedly through the link near drove the breath from me. "Oh, Elrohir, I'm sorry!" He shook his head in short, sharp jerks.  
  
"No, there should be honesty between us, at least. And I appreciate your care for me, and for my father. For this will grieve him greatly in the end." He laid the fish aside and picked up a piece of bread. His long, slender fingers began rolling tiny pieces of it into pills, and dropping them on the grass.  
  
"I love Estel dearly. I helped to raise him, taught him to shoot and swing a sword. I've ridden with him into battle all the years of his life--and yet there are times when I could cheerfully kill him for what he's done to Father and our family." He looked at me, and his eyes were bright with something other than stars for once. "Arwen is happy, I keep telling myself. This is what she wants. But truly, I feel as if I'm taking her to her execution rather than her wedding." I stared at him, shocked.  
  
"I had no idea. You hide it very well." He laughed, softly and bitterly.  
  
"Well, I must, mustn't I? I have no wish to make her miserable. Elladan and I are being very careful not to let her know how we feel. Though she may discern it anyway--Arwen is no fool." He sighed deeply. "But we will pretend to be happy about this, and she will pretend to not notice we're pretending, and Father will pretend to be above it all. And maybe between us, we'll fool Estel, at the least." I looked at him with eyebrows raised at that idea, and he nodded agreement. "Aye, you're right--Estel will know what is going on as well. A silly dance, all in all, but we'll tread the measures nonetheless." He looked down at the remains of the bread in his hand. "I am sorry, Snowsteel--were you wanting some of this?"  
  
"Not now," I replied dryly, and he gave me a small smile.  
  
"There's more in the saddlebag, should you wish it. As to other matters-- I promise you now that I will not fall in love with you, and give up my immortality. Does that make you feel better?"  
  
"It's very reassuring."  
  
"So where does that leave us?" He was coming back to himself a bit, a challenging light in his eyes.  
  
"Friends, at the very least," I replied without hesitation.  
  
"Truly? You would befriend the mangy cur, after all he's done to you?" Smiling at the absurdity of his description of himself, I took his hand, noting in passing that it was a shade more slender than my own.  
  
"Aye. For you've finally given me something that matters. You've shared a little bit of yourself with me." He looked down upon my hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.  
  
"And would you have me for a lover, Snowsteel?"  
  
I sucked in an unsteady breath. "I don't know. Do you even want to?" His thumb moved gently over my palm.  
  
"I thought about it a time or two, but dismissed the idea as both unkind and unwise."  
  
I snorted. "Because I'd fall madly in love with you, and pine away when I couldn't have you forever?" He grinned wryly.  
  
"Something like that."  
  
"You're not that pretty, Elrohir!" In answer, his large eyes suddenly seemed to become larger, and melting in the darkness. Rather like what I imagined an Elven puppy would look like, should the Elves have special dogs as well as horses.  
  
"You have no idea how alluring I can be, when I put my mind to it," he murmured wickedly. I pulled my hand from his, and planted it on my hip.  
  
"I know how ridiculous you can be! Stop that!" He smiled, and the melting-eyes business stopped. Thankfully.  
  
"You still haven't answered my question, Snowsteel. Would you have me for your lover, or no?" I looked at the exquisite creature sitting next to me, and swallowed hard.  
  
"I told you before, mother and father did not raise me to be a slattern."  
  
"To lie with a friend for heart's-ease does not make you a slattern, Snowsteel," Elrohir chided me gently. "Any other objections?" I thought hard for a moment, then spoke.  
  
"I think it would be too much like the orcs." Elrohir's eyebrows shot skyward.  
"EXCUSE ME?" I gulped, and hastened to explain.  
  
"Not in a bad way! I mean, it would undoubtedly be very wonderful, because you know exactly how I feel about things because of the soul-bond, and would know just.....what to do. It would probably be the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me in that way, and it wouldn't be any more....normal than what the orcs did. So I still wouldn't know how regular people did it, or what to expect." Elrohir's head tilted to one side, and he gave me a thoughtful look.  
  
"I see. It would be as beautiful as what the orcs did was horrible, and you would seek something closer to the middle?" I nodded vehemently in return, and he smiled sweetly.  
  
"Then I think we will take that as a 'no' for now, Snowsteel--and if I may say so, your objection is well-founded." I sighed, whether in relief or disappointment a bit difficult to say.  
  
"Let us finish our dinner, now that that matter is settled," Elrohir suggested, and we did so, consuming the rest of the fish, and some unruined bread from the saddlebags, and the other half of the orange. I took only one section of that, since he was obviously so enamored of the fruit, and was commended for my selflessness. When we had finished, he put more wood on the fire, and I helped him clean up the area. He stretched, and moved to his saddlebags, and began removing items.  
  
"I'm going to bathe. Would you care to join me?"  
  
"No thank you," I replied politely.  
  
"Are you sure? You said you wanted to give me things. I love having my back scrubbed."  
  
"One of us should keep our clothes on and weapons to hand, don't you think?" He smiled, and gave me a mocking little bow.  
  
"As you wish." And with no further ado, he walked over to the margin of the pool and began removing armor and clothing. I began laying out our blankets, politely trying to keep my eyes averted. An amused voice insinuated itself into my head.  
  
*You need not tie yourself into knots, Snowsteel. Look if you like--Elves care not about such things.* After that, I did not look, nor did I try to avoid looking, and as a consequence did notice a thing or two out of the corner of my eye. Despite the fact that he obviously spent a great deal of time out in the weather, Elven skin apparently did not tan--there was no line of demarcation between Elrohir's head and hands and the rest of his body. And besides the lush growth on their heads, Elves did not seem to grow hair anywhere else upon their persons. Also, it looked as if Elrohir was broader in the shoulder and heavier boned than, say, Legolas. I wondered if this was true when comparing him to Elves in general, and if so, if it was because of his mortal blood.  
  
Elrohir spent quite some time both lolling about in the pool and standing under the waterfall, singing songs to Elbereth and the stars in a voice I found quite melodious. But when I complimented him after he'd come back out and put his breeches on, he snorted.  
  
"I sound like a frog compared to some of my kin, and others of my kind--though I can harp a little." He took his long black hair in his hands and wrung the water from it, then wrapped it with a large and strangely silky cloth. He pulled another from the saddlebag, and gave it to me. Folded up, it was quite a small square; unfolded, it was large enough to wrap around me. I looked at it in puzzlement.  
  
"It's a towel," he explained. "Dry yourself with it, and then wring it dry. It will absorb more water than you expect, and folds very small. I left the soap down by the pool. The small jar is a special kind of soap for your hair." I thanked him, and started towards the pool, then hesitated.  
  
"Elrohir?"  
  
"Yes, Snowsteel?"  
  
"I'd rather you didn't watch."  
  
"I will make no intentional effort to do so--fair enough?"  
  
"Fair enough." I made my way to the water's edge, swiftly divested myself of armor and clothes, and jumped into the pool, which caused me to shriek, and Elrohir to chuckle, for I'd forgotten that the water came down from the mountain top and was icy cold. Bracing was not the word, but I took the time despite my shivers to thoroughly soap myself with the Elven soap, which had no grit in it, and lathered wonderfully, as did the hair soap. Both smelled delightfully of fir trees and flowers. I then stood under the waterfall to rinse off, and got back to the bank as quickly as possible to dry off. The Elven towel was marvelous, and dried me very swiftly. Wrapping it around my hair, I put on clean breeches and a shirt and returned to the campfire to find Elrohir, still shirtless, rubbing his hair with his towel. I noticed that in the interim, he had rearranged the blankets into one large bedroll.   
  
"Thank you for letting me use these," I told him. "Are Elven things always so much nicer than mortal ones?"  
  
"Almost always," the elf-lord said with a smile, though he refrained from any commentary that compared Elven lovers to mortal ones. "Those can just go back in the saddlebags, if you don't mind. And while you're there, will you please fetch me my comb?" I did as he asked. The comb was wooden, and carved with little stars.  
  
"So what does this do--take the tangles out by magic?" He cocked an eyebrow at me.  
  
"That is merely a comb. One of the rare things which Men make as well as Elves. And a thing that Men can wield as well as Elves do." He dropped the towel from his hair, and pushed it back over his shoulders. "Would you mind very much?" At my surprised look, he said "Men have a saying that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Another similar saying might be that the way to an Elf's heart is through his scalp. We love having our hair played with."   
  
Having refused him the back scrubbing, it seemed churlish to refuse this as well. So I spent the next half hour cautiously working the comb through his hair, being very careful of the one or two small tangles I found, for I feared he'd be tender-headed, his hair was so soft. As he had said he would, he enjoyed this process greatly, almost purring as I pulled the comb through the silky black strands, which as it dried, drifted and clung to my hands like cobwebs. Eventually, he pronounced himself satisfied, and returned the favor for me, which took nowhere near as long.  
  
"To bed, Snowsteel," he said when he had finished. "For we've a long, fast ride ahead of us in the morning."  
  
"I noticed the sleeping arrangements have been rearranged," I said, but I crawled under the blankets without protest, after first making sure my sword and bow were within arm's reach.  
  
"I thought you might be cold. And you cuddle with the Steward readily enough, so...."  
  
"Please, Elrohir, don't get started again. I find myself rather liking you right now, and I'd like to keep it that way." He said nothing, merely chuckled again, and slid his slender body under the blankets, coming to rest on his back, looking up at the stars through the tree branches. I was silent for a few minutes, then said softly "Thank you for bringing me here today, and for what you did with the flowers. That was lovely." There was no answer for some moments, as he continued to stare up at the stars, then his soft voice responded.  
  
"You are welcome."  
  
"What do Elves do with their dead?" I asked, genuinely curious. There was another long pause, then--  
  
"It depends upon what sort of Elf it is. We're not all the same, you know, any more than Men are all of one kind or custom. Different Elves do different things. But we don't discuss them with Mortals. Have you ever seen, or heard of anyone who has seen an Elven graveyard?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, there you have it then."  
  
"I'm sorry if the question offended, Elrohir."  
  
"No offense taken. Wisdom cannot be achieved without questions."   
  
There was another long silence while he stared upward at the sky before I asked "Elrohir, what do the Dunedain of the North do?"   
  
And another long pause came before he sighed and softly said, "Snowsteel, I am trying to sleep here. If you don't mind."  
  
"You weren't asleep--your eyes were open." Another sigh.  
  
"That's how we do it."  
  
"You sleep with your eyes open?"  
  
"When we are not ill or injured, yes."  
  
"That's strange. Don't they dry out?" Elrohir snorted, offended, and rolled up onto one elbow.  
  
"No, they don't dry out! And it's no stranger than some of the things you mortals do--snoring, for instance!"  
  
"Elves don't snore?"  
  
"Of course not. We are the First-born, after all!" His lip curled in a superior sneer.  
  
"Well, excuse me! But you still haven't answered my question--what do the Dunedain do? Is there something else I should do here before we leave?" Suddenly understanding my reason for the question, Elrohir's face softened.  
  
"Compared to most of the Dunedain, Snowsteel, your family are barrowed like kings. By now, I would be very much surprised if there's a square mile in all of Eriador that doesn't have a Ranger buried on it somewhere. They lie scattered across the North, buried where they fell, with only the wind in the grass and the stars in the sky for company, most of them far from kin and loved ones. It is a sorrow that all your family died, Snowsteel, but at least they all rest together, and in that, they are far more fortunate than many of your kindred."  
  
"The Northern Dunedain do not use mausoleums or tombs, as appears to be the custom here in the South. They have a burial ground in the Angle, and each of the houses has a House stone, with its name and the most notable of its members graven upon it. Each Ranger has a smaller stone with his name over his grave, and they also place smaller stones in memorial about the House stone for the Rangers that did not come home." He paused for a moment, his eyes looking distant, as if reviewing a memory. "Your House has a very great number of those small stones."  
  
"I should have one made for this place then," I said, "and another for the plot in the North." He nodded.  
  
"You will have then done all that you can do. I shall see to the stone in the North when I return there, if you wish it."  
  
"Thank you, Elrohir. I would very much appreciate that." He nodded, and lay back again, eyes staring upward once more.  
  
"At this point, I'd promise anything to cease the endless flow of questions, and allow me to rest!" I elbowed him in the ribs, and he grunted softly, but then a slender arm slid under me, and pulled me close so that my head rested on his shoulder. "Sleep, Snowsteel." And though he did not do that trick of his that would render me unconscious, sleep washed over me quite quickly, barely giving me time to pray to the Valar that I would not snore. 


	23. MinRimmon

Author's Note--Sorry to be so long about this--spring is in the air, and someone dropped a sheep bomb on my place. Lambs everywhere! I've got to shear, and vaccinate, and cuddle.....This is another of those character development chapters, but cheer up--our Fearless Four will soon leave the Rohirrim and venture forth into the Wild.  
  
  
"Greet the dawn, Snowsteel," a soft voice lilted in my ear. My head was pillowed on something smooth, soft and hard at once, and I awoke to find myself with my head tucked under Elrohir's chin, and my arm flung across his bare chest. I blinked a couple of times, yawned, and sat up slowly. The sky was turning pink in the East.  
  
"I'm sorry, Elrohir."  
  
"Think nothing of it. I'm sure the sensation will return to my limbs eventually." He stretched bonelessly, rose to his feet with an ease that belied his supposed infirmity, put his fingers to his lips and whistled. There was whinnying in response from the meadow below.  
  
"I'll get breakfast if you groom and saddle the horses," he said as he trotted off into the bushes. When he returned, I also made the trip, and came back to find Alagos and Nimfaun waiting for me, tails swishing idly, their pretty, inward tipped ears at attention. I used the brush I kept for Fortune in my saddlebag hesitantly at first, fearing it too rough for their delicate hides, but they seemed to enjoy the grooming greatly, and leaned into it with half-closed eyes. Their reaction reminded me very much of Elrohir getting his hair combed--Elven horses, too, it seemed, enjoyed having their hair messed with. When I'd done saddling them, and had washed my hands, Elrohir presented me with breakfast--a thick slice of a bread that was filled with fruits and nuts, some cheese, and water from the waterfall in a delicately carved wooden cup.  
  
We sat down companionably on the blankets to eat our meal and watch the sun come up.  
  
"I suppose we need to be heading north and a little west to come upon the Road again," I commented after a few bites. "I wonder where upon it the Rohirrim are." Elrohir smiled his infuriating, superior smile, and pointed.  
  
"Elladan's there."  
  
I was intrigued. "You can feel him?"  
  
"Oh yes. We shared a womb together, Snowsteel, and our bond is far deeper and more profound than that which I share with you. As a result, the distance over which I can sense him, and he me, is far greater. I know where he is, and to some extent, how he is."  
  
"That sounds....useful."  
  
"It has saved our lives upon more than one occasion," he agreed, "and it made the commitment of certain acts of mischief in our misspent youth easier as well."  
  
"I'm not sure I want to know any more about that."  
  
"You would be easier in my company if you did not," he conceded. There was silence for quite a while as we finished our food, then he remarked, in an off-hand tone of voice, "I don't know why it is you feel that you are not comely." I gave him a suspicious look.  
  
"You peeked!"  
  
"It was not on purpose, I assure you," he said, looking out at the sunrise. "My better half and my baser half were engaged in a terrible battle while you were bathing, and when they finished, I just happened to be facing in that direction. Totally by accident, of course."  
  
"Of course," I sighed, closing my eyes in embarrassment. Slim elven fingers reached out, grasped my chin, and turned my face towards his.  
  
"Snowsteel, there are many sorts of beauty," he told me gravely. "A sleek, pretty housecat and a wild mountain cat are both beautiful in their different ways. You are much like your Eagle friends. What have you got when an Eagle is sitting on a crag? A big pile of dirty brown feathers." I gave him an offended look on behalf of my feathered friends, but he ignored it and continued. "But an Eagle in flight--that is one of the most beautiful sights in all of Middle-earth. So it is with you. Just sitting about, you're a tall, gawky girl. But when you ride or shoot or fight, you are very beautiful in motion." In a heartbeat's time, I went absolutely crimson. Elrohir released my chin, and took both of my hands in his, turning the wrists this way and that.  
  
"And in truth, a good part of the gawkiness is that you're not yet grown." I snorted disbelievingly.  
  
"I'm near twenty-two years old, Elrohir!"  
  
"--And you are Dunedan," he interjected. "Dunedan of the purest blood. Aragorn's mother Gilraen married his father at the age of twenty, and everyone was shocked and called her a child bride, for they deemed her much too young to do so safely. The Dunedan have a longer lifespan than that of other Men, and they grow slower. I can tell from your bones that you are not finished yet, though the next year or two should see it done. Then, I fancy, even you will see an improvement. Though the King of the Mark likes what he sees perfectly well now."  
  
"Well, there you go. I must resemble a horse if Eomer likes me." Elrohir tsked at that, dropped my hands, and stood up.  
  
"I even detect some sort of....interest.... from the Prince of Dol Amroth, but what sort of interest it is, I cannot tell. He is very difficult to read, for a human. Very tightly shielded." Having mastered myself somewhat, I rose as well, and began helping him shake out and roll up the blankets.  
  
"He probably just wants to make sure he does a good job of training me so the King will be happy. But does it happen often, that you cannot....read someone?"  
  
"Very seldom. But it does give weight to the rumor of his Elven blood." We spoke little more after that, as we rolled and tied bedrolls, fastened saddlebags, refilled waterskins, made sure the fire was dead and buried, and that we'd left nothing behind. It was easy doing routine tasks with him, whether because of the soul bond or because he was actively reading me--there was no time wasted in discussion of who would do what job next, we simply moved from one task to another till all were finished, never interfering or getting in each other's way. This surprised me a bit--I could see he and his brother being thus, after near three thousand years together, but did not understand why it should be so with me. I decided he must be helping things along. When all was finished, we mounted and rode from the shade of the small glen into the sunshine. The day promised to be warm and clear. Small clouds dotted the brightening expanse of blue above our heads. Elrohir tipped his face up into the light, and smiled.  
  
"A fine day, is it not, Snowsteel?" I agreed that it was, and we started down the mountain. By unspoken accord, we passed by the fir copse and then the house for a last look, and as we were going past the front door, Alagos' hoof chinked upon something metal. Elrohir was off his back and stooping to see what it was before he'd stopped moving. Nimfaun halted as well.  
  
"Oh Valar, he didn't pick up a nail, did he?" I asked, concerned. Such a puncture wound would seriously lame a normal horse, and I did not see how Elven horses would be any different in that respect. If they had been, Elrohir would not have been so swift to act.  
  
"No, it's not a nail. He's all right," the elf-lord assured me. He'd dismounted on Alagos'offhand side, putting the bulk of the horse between me and him. After a moment, I realized that he was pouring some water from his waterskin on whatever it was he had found, and then drying it on his cloak. A moment's scrutiny, another quick rub upon his cloak, and he was ducking back under Alagos' neck to come to my side, holding whatever it was between his closed hands.  
  
"The King must give you leave to wear this openly," he said, his voice and expression unwontedly somber, "But it does belong to you." He opened his hands, and there glittering on his palm was a Dunedan star-brooch, scratched a bit, with one of the points slightly twisted. In the center of it was graven a simple line tracing of an eagle, its wings outspread. The breath left me as if I'd been punched in the stomach, and my eyes stung suddenly.  
  
"That was Father's," I breathed, as he handed it up to me. I closed my hand about the cold metal, feeling the points dig into my fingers. A tear trickled down unbidden my cheek.  
  
"How did it come to be here now?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice even. "The Rangers searched about for anything they could bring to me, but all of value was gone--save Father's sword. That they left behind for some reason." Elrohir looked at the hilt of my blade.  
  
"That blade you bear is near as old as I, Snowsteel, and swords forged by the Dunedain of that time are a bane to the forces of Darkness. The orcs would not want to have touched it, or indeed have been able to do so. Had the Witch-King dared to summon you to him in the flesh, with that blade you could have smitten him, and even he would have felt it bite."  
  
"As to that--" and he gestured at the brooch. "My guess is that it had been forced deep into the mire in the aftermath of the battle, and so lost. And it was buried still when the Rangers came. But three years' rain and weather served to bring it to the surface once more--just in time for you to claim it." He smiled gently. "A sign, if you wish to believe it so, Hethlin daughter of Hallaran, that your father and family watch and approve, and wait for you in Mandos' halls." He swung back up onto Alagos, while I stared down at the brooch.  
  
"Do you believe that, Elrohir?" I asked softly. Another tear dropped glittering onto the silver.  
  
"None of the Firstborn can truly claim to understand what happens to Men when their spirits leave this world," he replied, moving Alagos forward. Nimfaun followed without my urging. "But I am not a typical Firstborn. And I have ridden with the Dunedain for centuries now, and seen countless of them die, and I have seen enough to believe that yes, they go to some other sort of existence, and their loved ones wait for them indeed. I do not believe it was coincidence that brought that brooch into your hands this day, Snowsteel. Make of that what you will." We rode in silence for some minutes after that, and eventually, I dried my eyes, and blew my nose, and pulled open the throat of my hauberk, pinning the brooch to the underside of my gambeson, between it and my shirt. It lay cold above my breasts for a time, until the heat of my flesh warmed it, then it became a hard, warm, comforting presence like my father's hand above my heart.  
  
  
We rode in silence for the first couple of hours, Elrohir knowing that I did not wish for speech, and we rode hard while the morning air was still cool. We cut back north, so as to intersect the Road as soon as possible, and within those two hours, we had reached it. The track of the army's passage was plain to see. As the day warmed we began altering our pace from canter to trot to walk, then back to canter. I marveled at the tirelessness of the elf-horses, though about three hours after noon, even they began to flag a bit. We'd seen the occasional homestead in the distance, but had not detoured or tarried, so were unable to determine if the folk still lived in them, or if they'd been burnt out and abandoned like my home. The first sign of habitation we encountered was where the Road ran by Min-Rimmon. There was a small inn there that served as a gathering place for the local inhabitants, though some of them would have had to journey for a day or more to reach it, and as a resting place for the occasional traveler between Rohan and Gondor. In truth, it was more tavern than inn, for they only had two rooms to let, and it was also in part a sort of general store, for the owner traded for goods from both Edoras and Minas Tirith. I'd been there shopping once or twice with my father when I'd gotten old enough to ride hard and shoot properly. A neighbor had always sent one of his older sons to stay with Mother when we went on these trips, and Father had returned the favor when our neighbor wished to do the same.  
  
"Do you know of this place, Snowsteel?" Elrohir asked me, and I nodded.  
  
"We can give the horses a bit of a rest here, and water them if you like."  
  
"That seems wise. We'll be riding till well into the night if we are to catch up with the Rohirrim tonight. If the food is tolerable, let us eat as well now, then press on." I agreed to this plan, and we rode up to the porch of the tavern, where several weathered individuals rested on chairs on the porch with tankards and plates. I noted bows close to hand, and swords at sides of most of them. As we approached, the one sitting closest to the door stuck his head inside, and called the tavern keeper, who came out wiping his hands upon his apron. He looked upon us with a bit of amazement, and he was not the only one--several of the porch sitters were frankly gawking.   
  
I looked at my companion and realized we must make quite the sight, with the two lovely Elven horses and their beautiful equipage, and Elrohir looking quite the prince out of legend with his fine armor and weapons, not to mention my livery of Gondor with the jet black hauberk and tabard. He gave me a squint-eyed look, then said hesitantly, "Hethlin?"  
  
"Aye, Merelan," I replied, taking off my helm and coif. "But how did you know?"  
  
"I wouldn't have," he admitted, staring at my white hair. "Not in that outfit. And not all grown up as you are. But we were told to expect you."  
  
"You were?" I swung off of Nimfaun, and Elrohir dismounted as well.  
  
"Aye. The army of Rohan passed through here middle of the morning, and a fine lord stopped to leave a message for you. Had armor as fancy as this one's, and a helm with real jewels on it. Wearing a blue sort of armor cover with a ship on it." I smiled.  
  
"That would be my liege lord, the Prince of Dol Amroth." Merelan looked impressed.  
  
"Well now! Quite the day we're having, with the King of Rohan passing by, and a Prince coming to call! Not that he said anything about being a Prince, but I told Talith that he must be some sort of great gentleman, for he had the nicest manners I'd ever seen. Betha, my eldest--you remember her, don't you?" I nodded. She'd been a quiet girl four years my junior. "Betha's done nothing but moon about since he left." He looked at Elrohir, who was standing there with an air of don't-mind-me-I'm-just-a-wondrously-fair-creature-out-of-legend, and frowned slightly. "And I'll surely get no use from her for the rest of the day now." Elrohir grinned. Gesturing me a little further away from him, Merelan leaned close to my ear and whispered, "Where's your friend from, Hethlin? Looks a bit foreign to me." I glanced at Elrohir, who, with his hearing, had of course heard everything, and whose eyes were twinkling alarmingly as he started unsaddling the horses.   
  
"He's an Elf, Merelan, from far to the North. Your second Prince of the day, to be exact." Merelan's weathered brow creased in amazement, and he whistled sharply, which actually made Elrohir jump slightly. Elven ears could sometimes be a liability, it seemed.  
  
"Well, you've come to be in high company, and no mistake! But come inside--the gentleman left you a note. He looked at Elrohir, hesitated for a moment, then said, "Your...Highness, let my boy see to the beasts." The elf-lord inclined his head graciously.  
  
"I would, good sir, but they will suffer no hand but my own to tend them. Have you a well?" Merelan nodded.  
  
"That I do indeed, sir, a well and a trough around the back and Torthall can show it to you, as well as get you anything else you need." Elrohir nodded.  
  
"That would be most satisfactory." Rather to the bemusement of our audience he stripped Nimfaun and Alagos of all their gear, including bridles, and dumped them on the porch. When Merelan had summoned Torthall from within, he followed the astonished boy around the corner of the building, the two horses following him in their turn. The tavern-keeper shook his head at the sight, then ushered me inside.  
  
"Talith! Look who's here! You got the letter from the gentleman?" The tavern-keeper's wife was much as I remembered her--a little more gray at the temples, a little sparer, but unchanged for the most part. "Hethlin says he's a Prince, can you imagine? There's another Prince in the stableyard right now too. Must be raining 'em today."  
  
Talith, whose voice had always been rather low for a woman, just shook her head, and looked me up and down. "Strange times we live in, that's for sure! Hethlin, child, you've certainly filled out since last I saw you, and glad I am to see you again, for none of us thought to do so. But why ever are you dressed as a soldier, and what happened to your hair?"  
  
"Mayhaps it's the fashion in the White City, momma," Betha put in, sticking her head out the kitchen door, a soapy mug in her hands. "I mean, it's white, isn't it?"  
  
"Dishes, Betha," Talith chided, and Betha returned to her tasks. She had changed rather a lot since I'd seen her last, grown up and out a bit.  
  
"I'm dressed as a soldier, Mistress Talith, because I am a soldier, strange though it sounds. As for the hair-it's short because it's easier to keep that way, and white because I was nearly scared to death once." Talith nodded knowingly.  
  
"Those orcs, no doubt. That'd have scared anyone near to death. Whyever didn't they kill you too?"  
  
"I think they wanted a slave," I said. No sense going into detail about that, or my hair--let them think what they liked. "How did you know what happened to me?" Talith reached under the bar for something, and pulled out a sealed piece of parchment.  
  
"When Berill hadn't heard from you folk for over a month, he went to your place, and just happened upon some of those Ithilien Rangers there, burying your family. They told him what had happened to you. They said they didn't think you were going to live."  
  
"At that point, they didn't. But I got better." Talith snorted a little, but it was a kind snort, and handed me the letter.  
  
"From the looks of the company you're keeping, you not only got better, you bettered yourself a bit while you were doing it." I owned that that was certainly the truth, and opened the letter, which was sealed in green wax, though the seal was that of Dol Amroth. The Prince must have borrowed some wax from Eomer's scribes. His hand was a firmly-written one, yet spare and elegant as well.  
  
Hethlin,  
  
I have no clear idea of the capabilities of the Elven horses, but looking at the map, I wonder if you will be able to catch us up by this evening, particularly if your business takes longer than you anticipated. In the event you are delayed, I've paid for rooms and meals here should you and Prince Elrohir desire to spend the night. Please do not feel that you must rush to rejoin us to the extent that you harm your horses-- though Prince Elrohir said that you would return by this evening, please tell him that I do not hold him to that promise. Take what time you need, and join us when you may--except that the Lady Eowyn asks me to remind you that you owe her a sparring match!  
  
Valar guard and guide,  
  
Imrahil of Dol Amroth  
  
His signature trailed off into an ornate curlicue that resolved itself into a swan ship.  
  
"Well, that was thoughtful of him. About the rooms, I mean," I said to Talith, and she nodded.  
  
"A very fine gentleman he seemed to us. Will you be staying, then?"  
  
"I must speak with my companion, but I think not. We would love a good supper, though."  
  
"That you shall have, as good as I can set on the table, though your princely friend may find it a bit plain." I smiled reassuringly.  
  
"He is not so particular as all that."  
  
"Not having to hunt and cook will render whatever it is most tasty, mistress," Elrohir agreed as he came in the door. Talith took one look at him, and her jaw dropped. He pretended not to notice as he dropped languidly into a chair at one of the room's four tables, and pulled off his gloves. I joined him, and gave him Prince Imrahil's letter, which he scanned in a mere moment, then handed it back.  
  
"Polite of him," he acknowledged, "But we might as well press on. The horses can take it, and if we stop here, it could take us two days to catch up. Though I warn you, we may have a bit of a brush job to do on them before we start again. I told them I didn't want them to roll, but they seemed quite set upon it, and had a nice patch of dirt all picked out." I chuckled.  
  
"With all the ground we're going to cover today, I suppose they feel they've earned it. I don't mind."  
  
"I'll remember you said that when you're cursing the dust flying up your nose an hour from now."  
  
"How late do you think we'll be tonight?" I asked him. Elrohir shrugged.  
  
"We'll be there a couple of hours before midnight for certain, and probably earlier than that. Much depends upon how ambitious Eomer was feeling today." Further speculation ceased as Talith brought us large bowls of stew. It was a typical tavern stew, comprised of whatever was available and simmered over a low fire continuously, new ingredients being added as necessary. This time of year, there were a lot of the last of the winter's stored roots, and I tasted both chicken and pork. It was well-seasoned, and savory, and Elrohir, taking a bite, did not deign to turn his chiseled nose up at it, and set to with a will.  
  
Betha brought us a couple of tankards of ale, which she nearly dropped when she spied Elrohir, who quite enjoyed her reaction though he acted as if oblivious to it. She then hastened back into the kitchen so that she could bring us the bread and butter before her mother could do so. The bread was warm from the oven, if rather coarser than what an elf-lord was used to, and the butter freshly churned. She took the opportunity to stare raptly once more as she set them down, and this time Elrohir looked back, in full melting-eyes mode, much to my disgust.  
  
"Thank you, fair one," he said sweetly, and she blushed furiously, bobbed a curtsey, and fled the room.  
  
"Would you stop that!" I exclaimed, pinching the bridge of my nose to forestall the headache I felt coming on. The corner of Elrohir's mouth curled upward evilly, and he chuckled.  
  
"I but strive to uphold the standards of courtesy set here this day by the Prince Imrahil. How could you fault me for that?" I sighed, knowing better than to argue with him when he was in this sort of mood, and started eating once more. A very good apple pie, made with dried apples and honey, completed our meal and we were both quite content when we finished and pushed ourselves away from the table.  
  
"Are you sure you will not stay, Hethlin?" Talith asked as we prepared to leave. "I am sure that you have many tales to tell of the things you've seen in the White City."  
  
"I have a few tales," I admitted, "though Prince Elrohir is by far the better storyteller. Unfortunately, time presses on this journey. If I come again, I will try to make sure I can stay long enough to tell you all that I know about the War and such." Talith smiled.  
  
"We would like that--news comes seldom and late to us here. I believe Merelan said he wished to speak with you before you go." I nodded.   
  
"We need to bring the horses back around front to saddle them. He's welcome to talk while we do that." Out of the corner of my eye I saw Betha peeking from the kitchen again. Elrohir spied her as well, and swept her a magnificent bow.  
  
"Thank you for the excellent service, fair one," he proclaimed, and she blushed once more, made a peculiar choking sound, and jerked her head back into the kitchen. I took him by the elbow and dragged him out of there before he could get into any more trouble.  
  
  
Nimfaun and Alagos had indeed rolled, and were extremely unrepentant about it, as we found when Elrohir whistled them around to the porch. Their backs were covered with dust, and caked in a couple of places where sweat had combined with the dirt. We pulled out brushes and set to work, while the porch sitters looked on. They had apparently been having much serious converse with Merelan while we ate our dinner, for he approached me after a minute or two, and asked if he could speak to me about something.  
  
"First off, since you're not staying the night, would you like me to give back the room rent?"  
  
I shook my head. These were proud folk, though not well to do, and I chose my words carefully. "My lord would not expect it. You held the rooms for us, and probably lost custom as a result. Rent them again if you can with our thanks." He nodded.  
  
"A bit of that mannering has rubbed off on you it seems." I smiled. "A few of us have been talking out here while you were at your supper, and we wanted to know something."  
  
"And what is that?" I asked, brushing Nimfaun with long strokes. At least elf horses seemed to shed dirt more easily than normal ones--the clean-up was taking about half as long as it would have with Fortune.   
  
"We wanted to know if you'd take a word to the King, since we have one now according to your lord. We thought that since you seem to know so many princes, you might be able to do that."  
  
"Aye, I can, through the Steward if nothing else. What would you have me say?" He looked down at his feet for a moment, shifting uneasily from one to the other.  
  
"I don't know if you recollect or not, Hethlin, you were very young, but about twelve years ago, we were having trouble with brigands and such, and actually sent your father to the White City to ask for help. They told him that they were stretched too thin everywhere else to send soldiers to guard a few farmsteads. So he came back and helped us work out a plan and we took care of 'em ourselves, though it cost us Rothin and Herevar. Your father was a good man, Hethlin, and a canny fighter and there's many in these parts as miss him still." I acknowledged this with a tight smile and a nod.  
  
"Well, anyway, what I mean to say is it's always been that way, since my grandfather's time and further back if what the old folk say is true. Too few of us to be worth the while. Anything we have we've held ourselves, and paid the price in blood. The Stewards never were of any real help, but they never asked aught of us in return either, so in a way that was a fair enough arrangement."  
  
"Now, some of us's been talking, and we're worried. Kings are fancy folk, and they like fancy houses and fancy clothes and it takes a fair amount of taxes to keep 'em the way they're accustomed to being kept. And seeing as how we've never gotten any help from the White City, we're not much inclined to pay the King any taxes just now." I choked, and not just from the dust either. Elrohir stopped brushing Alagos for a moment, then started again, a peculiar smile upon his face.  
  
"Is that what you wish me to tell the King?" I asked when I'd mastered myself once more. Having gotten Nimfaun clean, I lifted the saddle onto his back and began girthing it up. Merelan frowned thoughtfully.  
  
"Well, not that exactly. We're willing to be fair here. If he sends some patrols to keep the orcs and brigands and Dunlanders off of us, so we can get more people in here and settle this land as it ought to be settled, then we'll pay our fair share and no mistake. But if he just sends taxmen, and gives us naught in return, we'll tie 'em on logs and float 'em right back down the River to him. Tell him that." Many nods and grunts of assent from the porch sitters said that this was in fact the commonly held opinion. I took a deep breath, and wondered again exactly what it was about me that inspired sedition against Aragorn in all who met me, no matter how briefly.  
  
"I will relay your message to the King. But I think you may be worried without cause. The King is a plain man--he was a Ranger in the North for many years, and he's dealt with his share of orcs and brigands. He will understand your problems better than you might think. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up here one day himself to talk to you about them."  
  
"Give him six months in Minas Tirith, and he'll be jumping at the chance," murmured Elrohir, completing his own saddling.  
  
"You've met him, then?" Merelan asked. I put bridled Nimfaun gently.  
  
"I had dinner with him just the other night." My audience looked impressed. "Mother was his kinswoman from afar."  
  
"You don't say! She was an uncommonly pretty lady, but she never put on airs. Who would have thought?" Merelan shook his head wonderingly.  
  
"Well, I certainly didn't! I had to find out from him, for she never told me! Talk about being surprised!" Several of the men chuckled at that. Just then, Talith came out onto the porch, and offered me a bundle tied up in a napkin.  
  
"Here's some food for the road for the two of you--hopefully it'll help make up for you not staying the night. Nothing fancy--just meat pies from the stew, and little apple pies, and some cheese. But you may be thankful for them if you're riding late." I thanked her, and carefully stowed them in my saddlebag. Elrohir sketched her one of his elegant bows, and I smiled to see her cheeks get a little red.  
  
"Thank you for all your many kindnesses, Mistress." She made an awkward little dip in return, then rather to my surprise came down the steps and gave me a hug.  
  
"It was good to see you again, child. I don't quite understand this whole soldier business, though given how you used to tear about here in those raggedy britches and never a dress to your name, I'm not surprised." There was a snigger from Elrohir at this point, which I ignored.  
  
"Think you you'll ever come back here, Hethlin?" Merelan asked. "To settle I mean?"  
  
"I don't know, Merelan. Not for a long while, if ever. I'm to Dol Amroth for the next two years, at the King's command, and after that I think he has somewhat he wants me to do. Do you know I've a land grant in Ithilien I've not even set eyes upon yet?" Merelan snorted.  
  
"Ithilien's well enough, but it's here where you belong, lass. We could use your father's blade here again, since I see you carry it now. Not that I usually hold with lasses fighting, but did you uphold our honor in the battles?" Seeing Elrohir swing up onto Alagos, and knowing that he was eager to be off, I kept my answer short and mounted Nimfaun.  
  
"I fought skirmishes for three years as a Ranger in Ithilien, and I was in a couple of the big battles. Killed a fair number of orcs and Southrons. Like to think I did well enough." There were nods and murmurs of approval, when suddenly Elrohir spoke up.  
  
"She saved the Steward of Gondor's life. Stood over him when he'd fallen wounded on the field, and killed a champion of Harad with a knife. They sing songs about Hethlin of Anorien in the White City." Stunned silence greeted this, and he took advantage of the silence to make our farewells, for I was entirely too embarrassed to do so.  
  
"Good master, mistress, our thanks for the food and welcome, but we must be on our way. Come, Hethlin!" Alagos reared rather unnecessarily but quite beautifully, I thought, then I noticed Betha's face peeking out the door. Elrohir spun him and set off at the gallop, to the accompaniment of farewells and good wishes. I had no choice but to follow after.  
  
  
It wasn't until we'd gone about a mile up the Road that he slowed our pace to a trot, threw his head back, and laughed loud and long. I glared at him in annoyance.  
  
"What did you want to go and tell them that for? What I said was more than enough."  
  
"Come now, Hethlin!" he replied in between gasps, "You know that you wanted them to know about that, and I know you did, so I took care of it."  
  
"What happens when one of them shows up at Minas Tirith, and asks someone about the song abut me, and there isn't one? They'll think you lied."  
  
"I promise you that by the time one of them makes their way there, there will be a song about you." He gave me his rakehell grin. "I harp a little, remember?" I paled with horror as I realized his intention.  
  
"You wouldn't!" He smiled fondly at me.  
  
"I've finally figured out the attraction you hold for me. It's the sense of purpose you give to my life. Why, I've two new goals just this day--to write a song about you that will live through the ages, and to be there when you explain to Aragorn about this latest rebellion of yours." I groaned in despair, and his laughter pealed out again as the Sun sank behind the mountains. 


	24. The Fenmarch

Author's Note--OK, I lied. I truly intended them to go off into the Wild this chapter, but Eowyn got martial, Elrohir got mischievous, and Imrahil got just plain wordy. But at least it's an update, Tia, and in only seven days!  
  
  
"Wake up, Hethlin!"  
  
"Mrrrmph! Go away, Eowyn!"  
  
"It's the day after the day after, eagle-girl! Time for our sparring match."  
  
"I rode over eighty miles yesterday, you daughter of a mare! Go away!"  
  
"Ah, but it was on one of those delightful Elven horses. Very much like riding a cloud, I'm sure."  
  
"Tell my arse that! You can take that cloud, and--ow!" I found myself suddenly rolled out of my bedroll onto the ground.  
  
"Come now, where is the vaunted valor of the Rangers of Ithilien?" her gently mocking voice asked. "Fear you to face a Rider of the Mark?" I struggled up to my hands and knees. Eowyn's booted feet were nearby, and I lunged for them, intending to trip her up, but she danced out of my reach.  
  
"The only thing I want to face at this hour is a pillow!" I started to crawl back towards my bedroll, when I looked up and realized to my horror that she was now holding the wash basin--and it was sloshing.  
  
"You wouldn't--" was all I got out before being hit with a face-full of water. With a roar, I lunged to my feet, and towards her. She retreated swiftly through the tent flap, and I followed, breaking out into the early morning light--and into the view of my liege lord, the sons of Elrohir, the King of Rohan, and divers Riders of the Mark. My shirt was sopping down the front, and did little to disguise certain attributes. Growling, I plucked it away from my chest.  
  
"Ha! A little water doesn't dampen the battle ardor of a Ranger of the South!," caroled Eowyn, obviously pleased with herself. "Indeed, it seems rather to nourish it and make it grow to great stature!" Appreciative chuckles greeted her poetical efforts. I was much less lyrical and far more succinct.  
  
"Prepare to die, yellow-hair!" I snarled.  
  
  
It took little time to arm and armor. Eowyn had brought her hauberk with her, though she hadn't been wearing it on the journey. Riders brought wooden practice swords for the two of us, and identical round shields with the White Horse of Rohan upon them. I slid mine onto my left arm and winced a bit, for it pulled at my wound a little. That was not the primary source of my discomfort, however--I had never fought with a shield on foot. The little experience I had with a shield had been ahorse and with a Gondorian kite shield.  
  
"What is the matter, Hethlin?" Prince Imrahil asked quietly. I hadn't heard him move up behind me and jumped a bit.  
  
"I've never used one of these, my lord." He looked puzzled for a moment, then comprehension dawned.  
  
"Of course. What Ranger would? You'd just have to set it down when you went to your bow, wouldn't you?" I nodded, and looked over to where Eowyn was waiting. She gave me a concerned look.  
  
"Hethlin, would you like another weapon? Shall we both fight shieldless?"  
  
I didn't want to make a fuss, and they would have had to ruin a practice sword to make me a practice knife, so I said, "No, Eowyn, it's all right. I'll give it a try--I need to learn how to use one of these anyway."  
  
At that, Imrahil moved behind me and took hold of my shield arm. "Here then, a couple of quick pointers. Block thus against strikes from above, thus from the side, and thus for low." He smiled wryly. "And stop thinking of the shield as an encumbrance, Hethlin. Remember, your shield is your friend. The short version is--keep it between yourself and the tricky Rohirrim lady at all times." Eowyn stuck her tongue out at him, then grinned. He sketched her a courtly bow, then left us to our own devices.  
  
The Marshall of the Riders himself came forward to oversee our bout. Others of the Riders gathered, and King Eomer, Elladan and Elrohir did as well. I was nervous, for I was unaccustomed to fighting before an audience, and the presence of my new liege lord, who was undoubtedly going to take this opportunity to determine exactly how backward I was, was not making things any easier.  
  
The Marshall gave the command to lay on, and Eowyn came in fast and furious, inspired by the loud encouragement of the Rohirrim. I backpedaled in a hurry, awkwardly blocking a flurry of fast-placed blows that were harder than I'd thought she would hit. Trying to find an opening in turn proved futile-- there was no problem with her shieldwork. We circled about each other, she driving me for the most part. It took about two minutes, but eventually her sword snaked past my guard and thumped my ribs. I stepped back, and raised my sword in salute.  
  
"Well fought, my lady," I told her as the Riders cheered. She grinned cheerfully.  
  
"That was fun, Hethlin, let's go again! You did very well!"  
  
"Are you sure you're up to it?" I asked, for she was panting a bit.  
  
"Of course! Let's go!" The Marshall started us again, and it was more of the same, though this time I was beginning to get a feel for the shield and it took longer for her to get to me. I even managed to put her on the defensive for a few moments, using my superior strength and weight to better advantage than I had previously. But in the end, she prevailed once more, and I conceded the match graciously as I could. I was a bit disgruntled at having made such a poor showing in front of everyone, but tried to hide it as best I could, for I truly liked Eowyn, and it was as if she hadn't offered to adjust the fight to better suit my skills. It seemed wisest to take pleasure in the fact that she had found sparring with me enjoyable.  
  
"Can I have my breakfast now?" I asked her plaintively, and she nodded, while the Riders laughed.  
  
"A moment please, Hethlin," said the voice of my liege lord behind me. He then addressed Eowyn.  
  
"My lady, would you indulge us with a third bout?" She nodded, a bit surprised.  
  
"If you would wish it, my lord, I am willing if Hethlin is." I shrugged.  
  
"If my lord wishes it, then of course I am willing as well." Imrahil beamed.  
  
"Excellent! This time, however, there's going to be a change." He gestured to a Rider, who gave him a practice sword that had obviously been hastily cut off to a long-knife's length--the raw edge of the wood was quite visible. Where the esquire had hesitated to ask, the Prince had simply commanded. Eowyn smiled approvingly when he said "Give me that shield, Hethlin." I did so, a wolfish grin suddenly twisting my mouth, and he handed me the practice knife. I tossed it in my hand twice, then clasped the hilt approvingly. "Will that serve?" he asked me. "Is the length correct?"  
  
"It's perfect, my lord." I took position opposite Eowyn, and she eyed me warily, for she knew that the situation had changed. It was incredible how much lighter I felt, free of that shield, how much faster. It was as if the thing had fettered me.  
  
This time, when the Marshal commanded us to commence, things went a little differently. We both of us were women who'd been raised as warriors by our male kindred, but I was the one who'd spent four years in the field learning how to get around the shields of orcs and Haradrim with a sword and long knife. And I was comfortable now, fighting in a way I understood. Eowyn soon found she had a problem, though she rose to the challenge magnificently, her ice-blue eyes narrowed in concentration. She pressed me and I pressed her, and the bout went on for far longer than the previous two. In the end, the slight edge I had in conditioning served me well--she tired, overextended, and I had her. My knife drove her sword wide, I sidestepped, and slid my sword past her shield to rest at her throat.  
  
Eowyn lowered her weapons, stepped back, and saluted me. "Can I have my breakfast now?" she asked me in exactly the same tone I'd used earlier, as the Riders cheered. I grinned.  
  
"I'll race you to the bacon!" And I stepped forward and clasped arms with her. She drew me close, dropped her shield, and gave me a hug.  
  
"You'll have to teach me how to knife fight."  
  
"If you'll teach me how to use that wretched shield!" Arms about each other's waists, we headed over to the fire to get our food.  
  
"I think both Gondor and Rohan are fortunate in their shield-maidens," Prince Imrahil declared diplomatically.  
  
"You never spoke truer words, my royal cousin," declared King Eomer. I could feel his eyes upon my back. Or perhaps it was my backside....Apparently, Elrohir was not the only one who found me beautiful in motion.  
  
  
"I fear we must leave you on the morrow, Eowyn," Prince Imrahil said as we rode through the brightening morning light a short time later. She frowned.  
  
"I was hoping that we would be able to guest you at Meduseld for at least one night, Uncle. Can you not come to Edoras with us? Surely the ease of traveling on the Road will make up for the distance it takes you out of your direct way."  
  
"Elladan and Elrohir say not. If we part company with you once over the border of Rohan, and ride hard as we can, they say we can take two days off of our journey. Though in truth, I'm not looking forward to swimming the Entwash!"  
  
"You would not have to, came you to Edoras, sir--when the Road continues eastward, there's a very nice ford." She gave him one of her sidelong, demure glances, usually sure to win him over. But the Prince was adamant this time.  
  
"Seek not to cozen me, Eowyn!" he laughed, reaching across the space between their horses and cupping her cheek gently. "We must leave you, and that is that!" At her crestfallen look, he added, "I promise you that I will return with King Theoden for his burial rites, and accept from you all the hospitality you can offer. Though I have been warned about your beer....." And he threw me an amused glance, which I endeavored to ignore with as much dignity as possible.  
  
"Will you bring Hethlin with you, sir? I know that she will be in training then, but surely such a journey would be good for her. She could work on her Rohirric."  
  
"Of course I will bring her! I would not deprive you of your sparring partner. Though you may not have time for such things, as Faramir will be there as well, and may have other ideas about how you should be spending your days." Eowyn's cheeks got distinctly pink, to my great amusement.  
  
"I truly wish to see the herds of Rohan, Eowyn," I assured her. "I'm counting the days till I get the chance to do so. But I warn you, I'll be wanting to look at every horse on the place!"  
  
"We will make a day of it," she promised me, "After the funeral, and do just that! You and I and Faramir and the Prince. We'll take a picnic, and stay out the whole day. And look at horses all day long!"  
  
Well! I for one will look forward to that!" declared the Prince, and I agreed it sounded like a very good time indeed. Somewhat mollified, Eowyn excused herself, for her brother was calling her.   
  
The Prince and I rode in silence for a few minutes, then I said quietly, "Thank you, my lord, for that third bout." He smiled.  
  
"I thought you might like to have a chance to show what you could really do. Though I do not believe it was Eowyn's intention to put you at a disadvantage."  
  
"Oh, no, I never thought that! She offered to arrange things more to my liking, and I almost asked to have a sword cut down, but didn't really think I should be asking them to ruin one."  
  
"That's what liege lords are for," Imrahil agreed. "Besides, though you may think otherwise, you didn't do badly. There was a great deal of improvement between your first bout and your second. You learn quickly, and that will stand you in good stead with my Armsmaster, who does not suffer fools gladly." This seemed like an ideal opening to broach a subject I'd been thinking much about.  
  
"My lord, I'm rather worried that nothing I've learned already will be of any good to me in Dol Amroth. You have no use for most of my Ranger skills. I know nothing of spear work on a horse, or sword and shield. I'm going to be horribly backward."   
  
"Hethlin, think you that my esquires all arrive in a uniform state of readiness? I assure you that it is not so." The Prince's free hand was stroking the crest of his stallion's neck gently as he spoke. "The noblemen's sons have the social skills, but their military training tends to vary greatly, depending on their individual families' resources and emphasis. They often have trouble learning to accept authority and work within a military command structure. Occasionally, I offer an esquire position to one of my promising men-at-arms. Then, the situation is usually the reverse--they work well within the chain of command, and they have basic training, though it may be lacking in some areas, but they lack the necessary social skills."  
  
"That sounds more like me," I noted.  
  
"Somewhat," Imrahil agreed, "Though I wouldn't call you totally lacking in social skills, no matter what Aragorn says about your lack of polish. You learn quickly in that area as well--it was not so long ago that you would hardly look me in the eye, and now look at you! You give ultimatums to the King of Gondor about your marital status, you fend off the advances of the King of Rohan rather effortlessly, and you have the Prince of Imladris, who is a difficult gentleman at the very least, wrapped around your finger!"  
  
"That is not what you think it is, my lord Prince!" I protested, blushing hotly. Imrahil's expression was politely bland, but his eyes were twinkling mightily.  
  
"I have carefully refrained from any speculation upon the nature of your relationship with Prince Elrohir, for it truly is none of my business," he said kindly. " I will tell you that if you should at any point in your training wish to quit it so that you might marry a young man, I would release you from your vow of fealty--or at the very least, give you orders to wed with the fellow of your choice! And I am sure that Aragorn would agree with me." His expression grew thoughtful. "Though I do wonder a bit about the advisability of cleaving to one of the Firstborn--there are good reasons, I believe, that it has only been done twice or thrice in all the ages. And yes, I do include Aragorn's bride-to-be in my reservations. Having never met the lady, I would not be overhasty in judgment, but it seems to me that she will have to adapt to a great deal she is unaccustomed to in the years to come. We must make an effort to see that she is as happy as possible in her new home."  
  
"The King said very much the same thing to me before we left."  
  
"Well, Aragorn knows her far better than we, and will undoubtedly have suggestions as to how to secure her comfort. For my part, I shall have to see if I can scare up some of Gondor's nicer nobility--and they do exist, believe it or not, Hethlin! Being decent sorts, they tend to shun court save in direst necessity. Too busy doing useful work on their lands. But I know where they live, and shall convince them to make an appearance in Minas Tirith, and to stay a while. Hopefully, they will come to love the Queen, and give her a circle of friends to ward off the sycophants." I gave him a sympathetic look.  
  
"It seems you have a great many responsibilities, my lord."  
  
"The King's contentment in his home life does not usually fall within my purview, but I have a duty as his liege man to do what I may to help him achieve it. And to ward the coast, and western Gondor, and manage what navy we have. My lands are extensive, but the writ of my authority extends somewhat beyond them, and my influence further than that." This was said so matter-of-factly, there was no way it could be thought of as a boast. His expression changed of a sudden, to a genuinely joyous smile. "Glad I was to lay down the position of single premier noble of the realm! One of the happiest days of my life was when the King made Faramir Prince of Ithilien! Never was there a dearer, more deserving lad! Now at least he has some of the perquisites of power as well as the burdens."  
  
"He loves you dearly," I observed. "He was most fearful for your safety, and that of Prince Elphir's, when you rode to the Black Gate."  
  
"As I was for his, left in Minas Tirith still so unwell. But then, one's family is always the source of the greatest joys and sorrows." He paused then, and took a quick glance about, noting that the King of Rohan, Eowyn, and the sons of Elrond were some distance away. Then his eyebrow rose, and he gave me a very wry look.  
  
"Speaking of family, Hethlin, I understand it is you I have to thank that this quarter's budget must be stretched to obtain a very expensive Rohirrim yearling for my daughter. Eomer's way of doing business seems to be to charge what the traffic can bear, and he apparently thinks I can bear quite a bit. Is there anything you'd like to tell me about this?"  
  
I blanched, and swallowed hard.  
  
  
I made a point of spending as much of the remainder of the day as possible with Eowyn, for I knew it would be months before I saw her again, and I was going to miss my first woman friend. She spent a good bit of the afternoon extolling her brother's virtues, a project which he was all too willing to help her with personally. Elladan and Elrohir kept pretty much to themselves that day, except for a rather lengthy conversation with the Marshall of the Riders, and another, shorter one with Prince Imrahil.  
  
That evening after dinner, as a treat for his guests, one of Eomer's riders with a most beautiful voice gave us one of their older songs about Eorl the Young. The King of Rohan made a point of sitting next to me so that he could translate. Since he did not want to detract from the performance, courtesy necessitated that he keep his translation little louder than a whisper, which of course made leaning close to my ear essential. I caught Elrohir giving him an annoyed look once or twice during the song, and Elladan giving his brother an amused one.  
  
The song ended to great applause, which I joined in wholeheartedly, for it had been truly beautiful. Elladan and Elrohir spent some time talking to the Rider, and rather to my surprise, after a time someone brought a small traveling harp forward, and gave it to Elrohir. He and his brother then sat for a while with their heads close together, conferring, while his long, nimble fingers brought the harp into tune. Eventually, they got up and begged our indulgence to perform.  
  
The song they sang had obviously been chosen to appeal to the Rohirrim, who loved songs of battle and heroic deaths, for they sang of the Last Alliance, and the fall of Gil-galad and Elendil. Elladan was the primary voice, for he was in fact a better singer than his brother, while Elrohir sang counterpoint and accompanied them on the harp.  
"I can harp a little" indeed--he wrung sounds out of that modest instrument of few strings that I'm sure its owner never dreamed it could make. And as for the singing--they were twin brothers very much of one mind, who'd been practicing together for over 2500 years--of course they were incredible! They sang it in Westron, so that some at least could understand it, and here and there I saw a Rider lean over and do translating duty for his fellows. But even if you could not understand the words, the harmonies and musicianship were enthralling.  
  
The Prince sat in his chair throughout the song, fingers steepled together and eyes half-closed, a pose very reminiscent of his nephew, seeming to drink the music in. He was certainly enjoying it greatly. The Rohirrim too gave credit where credit was due--there was a long silence at the conclusion of the song, then a huge roar of approval.  
The twins stood, and bowed, and Elrohir returned the harp to its owner, who looked at the instrument as if it had been bewitched.  
  
"I'm for bed," Eowyn told me, yawning. "You wore me out this morning! Think you we'll have time to do it again tomorrow?"  
  
"I think the sons of Elrond wish to make an early start, niece," the Prince answered in my stead. Eowyn frowned a bit, disgruntled.  
  
"I wish we'd had more time together," she growled. "We're only just now getting our strength back and beginning to enjoy the journey, and now you have to leave."  
  
"I'll see you again when we come to Edoras," I consoled her "and one day you'll be living in Minas Tirith, and so will I, at least part of the time. Then we can spar every day, and terrify the court women." She seemed to take heart at this idea.  
  
"Are you coming to bed, Hethlin?"   
  
"In a bit. I think I'll go say goodnight to Fortune."  
  
"Well, good night to you, then."  
  
"Good night, Eowyn." She disappeared into our tent, and I stood to head toward the horse lines.  
  
"I think I'll go with you if you don't mind, Hethlin," the Prince said. "I'd like to organize our things so as to make a quicker start in the morning."  
  
"Of course, my lord." I was following him towards the horses when I saw something out of the corner of my eye that caused me to pause. Elladan was talking to Eomer, and the fingertips of one of his hands rested lightly on the King's golden-stubbled jaw. The expression on the erstwhile fiery King of Rohan's face was one I'd never seen before--I could almost have sworn it was panic. Certainly, he was white about the eyes, like a young horse suddenly confronted with a saddle. Wondering what that was all about, I hastened to catch up with my lord.  
  
Fortune was most offended I'd forgotten to bring him anything, till the more thoughtful Prince split the piece of bread he'd brought for his stallion, Caerith, with me. Then, mollified, he allowed me to fuss over him a bit. Imrahil checked over the gear quickly, then came back to me.  
  
"My bridle seems to have gone missing. You know what it looks like, do you not?"  
  
"Aye, my lord." It was a beautiful piece of work, intricately braided leather with silver mountings graved with swan-ships upon it.  
  
"That wagon over there has some saddles upon it. Would you mind checking to make sure it didn't end up there by mistake?"  
  
"Of course, my lord." Feeling quite the helpful esquire, I made my way to the nearby baggage wagon, which was festooned with saddles hung there to keep them out of the damp grass. We had used the low limb of a nearby tree for ours. Having checked the near side with no success, I worked my way around the tailgate and to the far side. Eventually, it came to light, thrown into the bed of the wagon itself. I fancied that someone had found it lying on the ground and put it there to keep it dry till its owner could claim it. Snatching it up, I dropped from the wheel I'd stood on, and was starting back around the wagon to give it to my lord, when I heard voices and paused.  
  
"Imrahil! Are you there?"  
  
"Yes, Eomer, I'm over here. Might I help you in some way?"  
  
"I need to talk to you about something."  
  
"I am, of course, at your disposal, Your Majesty. What seems to be the problem?"  
  
Eomer's voice dropped low, but the night air was quiet and I could still just barely hear him.  
  
"One of those elf-lords, Elladan, he....I can't believe this! He just asked me.....he just asked me to play stallion to his mare! Or perhaps it was the other way around, or both, I'm not entirely sure....but anyway, there you have it, and what do I do now? If he were anyone else, I'd just gut him, or chop his head off, or maybe geld him, but he's Aragorn's foster brother! Oh Valar--you don't suppose Aragorn goes in for that sort of thing too? What am I going to do?" The King was as shaken as I'd never heard him before, and he sounded very young of a sudden.  
  
"That rather depends on what you've done or said already," the Prince replied, in a voice so steady and gentle that I imagined it could calm a storm at sea. "What did you say to him when he asked you?" Eomer made an irritated growling sound.  
  
"I didn't say anything, I was so surprised. I just made a weird-sounding noise and walked away from him." Imrahil gave a quiet chuckle.  
  
"I think that Prince Elladan is astute enough that he would read that as a refusal, Eomer. I rather doubt that any further action on your part is necessary or required."  
  
I wondered what I should do at this point--I did not wish to be eavesdropping on such a personal conversation, yet I did not want to reveal myself to Eomer and humiliate him further. It was while debating this that I noticed, unseen by Eomer, Imrahil's hand closest to me was making a small downward gesture repeatedly. I took that to mean I was to lie low, and ducked behind the wagon accordingly.  
  
"But what if he doesn't, and asks me again?"  
  
"Eomer, I cannot believe that someone who has commanded men from as young an age as you have has never encountered this before!" Imrahil's tone became less soothing and a bit more bracing. In response, Eomer became indignant.  
  
"I have commanded Riders of the Mark! Virile men who ride their women and their horses, and naught else! The men of Rohan have no use for such perversions!" Imrahil sighed.  
  
"Ah, but this is where we come up against cultural differences, I fear. From what little I know of Elves, they do not consider the act of love with another of the same sex to be a perversion, so long as both parties are willing. I daresay, if you live long enough, you try almost everything eventually. And rumor has it that Prince Elladan likes mortal Men in his bed, but only the most manly and virile ones. It is, if you choose to see it so, a compliment."  
  
"A rather back-handed one, if you ask me!" growled Eomer. "And again, I ask you--what should I say to him?"  
  
Imrahil didn't miss a beat. "I am flattered, my lord Prince, that you hold me in such high regard, but I fear I must inform you that my own predilections make any sort of physical union between us impossible." Eomer groaned.  
  
"You've done this before, haven't you? You didn't even have to think about that! I'll bet that nest of elf-lovers down on the coast you rule is filled with people like him, isn't it?" Both amusement and a little irritation were palpable in the Prince's reply.  
  
"No, Eomer, I'm simply fast on my feet. Comes of dealing with the Haradrim on a regular basis for forty years. Not to mention the rapacious ladies of Minas Tirith."  
  
"Well, that's a fine, flowery Dol Amroth answer--what about something a Rider of the Mark can use?"  
  
"How about 'No, thank you.'? I have it on good authority that many people have had success with that one." The suggestion was gently dry. Eomer sighed.  
  
"I'm being an idiot here, aren't I?"  
  
"You were, as you said, taken by surprise, and such things are disconcerting when they happen to you the first time."  
  
"I am sorry to have troubled you, my lord prince."  
  
"It was no trouble at all, my lord King," Imrahil replied warmly. "Your sister is a lovely young lady, and I look forward to welcoming both of you into my family. I know that Theoden King stood as a father to you, and that you miss him greatly. I would hope that you know you may call upon me for such advice as I can give."  
  
"On the rare occasions we're both in the same place, I assuredly will," Eomer replied. I heard the sound of some sort of movement, then footsteps moving away. I suspected a farewell manly clasp of arms--it was doubtful that Eomer was up to any more than that at present.  
  
When I was sure that the King had departed, I came back around the wagon, bridle in hand, to find my liege lord with his face buried in Caerith's mane, his shoulders shaking. I waited patiently till he had recovered somewhat, standing back up and wiping tears from his eyes. He was still chuckling. "Oh, that poor lad! You found the bridle, did you, Hethlin? Excellent! And clever of you, to realize what I wanted you to do."  
  
"The Rangers use hand signals some, sir--though we use whistles more. Different bird calls for different things, and some other whistles."  
  
"Indeed? Well, I apologize for making you listen to that. I hoped that you might decide to go on back to camp."  
  
"I thought about it--it was such a personal conversation. But I was afraid he'd see me if I moved."  
  
"You acted wisely. Though I regret broadening your education in such a manner."  
  
"In truth, I still don't understand entirely what you were talking about, though the description does...suggest certain things." Imrahil took the bridle from me, and moved to hang it with his saddle.  
  
"Suffice it to say that there are men who prefer to sleep with men, and women who prefer women, and in most nations of men, these are considered perversions, heresy or worse. The general feeling seems to be that these people choose to behave in this manner, but I'm not so sure. I find it difficult to imagine someone knowingly choosing a course of behavior that causes them so much trouble and grief. I suspect it is something simply within an individual's nature. And if they are in fact born that way, it can hardly be said to be unnatural. Perhaps I'm too Elvish in my attitude, but so long as the two parties are both of age, acting of their own volition, and no children are involved, I do not get exercised over the matter. Certainly, I've never prosecuted anyone for such things within my demesne." I took a last look around, to make sure all was in order.  
  
"Has anyone ever offered to play stallion to your mare, or the other way around?" I asked curiously, emboldened by the frank discussion. The Prince raised an eyebrow, and gave me a very bland smile.  
  
"I was a comely enough lad, when I was young," was all he said, and with a last pat of his horse's neck, started towards his tent. "Good night, Hethlin, go get some sleep. You'll need the rest, if we have the ride the twins promise us on the morrow."  
  
"Good night, my lord," I responded, and turned to go to the tent I shared with Eowyn. In returning there, I walked by the campfire where we'd sat earlier that evening. The chairs were still there, including Eomer's throne-like one. As before, Elrohir had claimed it for his own, and having reacquired the harp, was leaning back, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, and strumming it softly, making sweet Elven music in the night.  
  
"An interesting evening, Snowsteel?" he inquired softly, never ceasing his play.  
  
"Interesting enough," I owned, smiling down at him. "Your music was so lovely. You and Elladan perform so magnificently together." His eyes crinkled in pleasure.  
  
"Don't we just?" he agreed amiably. "Truer words were never spoken than those by the mortal who said 'Bare is back without brother.'. So much truth, on so many levels." His mouth curled up slowly into a sweetly evil smile, and I was reminded both of his annoyed looks at Eomer during the music and of the King's words to me the night we had dinner at the Citadel--"I guarantee you that any mischief they've done in the world has all been done in tandem.". He watched my eyes widen in realization, and chuckled.  
  
"Good night, Snowsteel."  
  
"Good night, Elrohir." I then fled to my tent, pondering anew the wisdom of traveling alone in the Wild with the two of them. 


	25. The Eastfold

Author's Note--Well, at least I get them on the road in this chapter......and what happens later on in this chapter has nothing to do with the pirate jokes on Henneth-Annun. Really, it doesn't........  
  
The touch of a hand on my shoulder woke me the next morning. "Up with you Hethlin," said my liege lord's voice quietly. "We're going to breakfast and start early." I nodded an acknowledgment, then heard him withdraw. I opened my eyes, and found that light but dimly penetrated the tent canvas, so the sun was not yet up. Rolling out of my bedroll, I pulled on stockings and boots, then my tunic and swordbelt, being as quiet as possible so as to not wake my tentmate.  
  
Eowyn slept sweetly in the growing light, her hair spilled like molten gold upon the pillow, her pale pink lips slightly parted. Her lashes lay like golden tracery upon her white cheeks. She was truly exquisite, like some angelic vision of an enchanted princess from days of old, and I gazed fondly down upon her, my new, dear friend. I was going to miss her greatly over the next few months. Silently, I checked the pitcher and found but a small bit of water left, not enough to wash my hands and face, but enough to serve another purpose. With a loving smile, I upended it over Eowyn's head, then dropped it and bolted from the tent to the accompaniment of some extremely foul oaths shouted at a volume guaranteed to wake every living thing within a five mile radius of the camp.  
  
Indeed, heads started sticking out of tents and queries about the camp being attacked began to be shouted in Rohirric. Responding to the excitement, horses started to whinny and bugle. I slowed my flight to a leisurely saunter, and approached the cook fires, where the cooks were already hard at work producing breakfast. My lord stood there, slightly bleary-eyed and tousled, his hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea. He looked in the direction of our tent, and lifted an eyebrow. I secured my own mug of tea, managing to avoid his glance in the process, and began to sip it, eyes cast demurely downward.  
  
Eomer burst out of his tent, a beautiful example of well-muscled manhood--barechested, barefoot and buttoning his breeches as he came. "Is that 'Wyn making all that racket?" he demanded. "What ails the girl?"  
  
"I'm sure I don't know, Eomer," responded the Prince. "Perhaps Hethlin can shed some light on the problem."  
  
"Perhaps she was rising, and stubbed her toe upon something," I suggested. "I left my helm in a bad place, I fear." Imrahil gave me a very dry look, but the King of Rohan nodded and smiled, brilliant as the sun just now peeping over the horizon.  
  
"I hate it when that happens to me," he said, and looking down at his relatively unclad form, pretended an embarrassment he very obviously didn't feel.  
  
"My apologies, Lady Hethlin, to appear before you thusly. I was afraid that the camp was under attack."  
  
"My lord king, you are ill-prepared then, for you seem to have left your sword behind." Having given him such an opening, I was not surprised when he took advantage of it.  
  
"Oh, I am never weaponless, lady, though I fear the sword I bear now is ill-suited to that sort of fight."  
  
"Indeed?" I asked, pretending ignorance of his meaning. Prince Imrahil groaned.  
  
"Not before breakfast, if you please, Eomer," he begged. Eomer grinned, but suddenly the grin faded, to be replaced by a wary look as he watched something behind me. A slender arm slid about my waist and a silky raven head came into my field of vision. Rather to my amazement, a pair of soft Elven lips brushed my cheek. "Good morrow to you, Snowsteel." A certain tension left Eomer's body.  
  
"Good morning, Prince Elrohir," he said to the Elf who held me within the circle of his arm, the Elf from whom I could feel nothing but a faint residual echo though we were in close proximity, the Elf who turned his head to me and closed the limpid gray eye the King could not see in a wicked wink.  
  
"Good morning, Eomer King," Elladan replied courteously, to be echoed by his brother, who was standing right behind Eomer, having soundlessly ghosted up while the King was engrossed in watching Elladan and me. Eomer jerked, and spun around, to be greeted by a searching silver glance that raked him from his head to his toes and back again. "You're looking very well this morning. What a fetching outfit--what there is of it."  
  
"Yes. Well. Thank you, Prince Elladan. Now that you mention it, it is a bit chilly. So if you'll excuse me." Eomer stalked back to his tent with as much dignity as he could muster, trying to keep a weather eye out over his shoulder without seeming to do so. Elladan chuckled soundlessly beside me. His brother gave him a disgruntled look.  
  
"Do you mind?" he growled, indicating me. Elladan snuggled in a little closer.  
  
"Not at all," he replied happily. I looked over at my liege lord, who was watching all of this with the air of a man examining the strange habits of the exotic animals at a menagerie.  
  
"Well, I mind," I said, detaching myself from Elladan. "I should like my breakfast." Elladan gave me a mournful look.   
  
"I could have fed you, Snowsteel. Honey and berries and cream."  
  
"Strange. I see bacon and eggs and toast and porridge over there." He smiled sweetly.  
  
"They would have seemed like honey and berries and cream, had I the feeding of you." I pondered what seemed to be a strange role-reversal between the twins this morning. Imrahil just sighed, and went to get himself a plate.  
  
"She'd get dirt and twigs, had I the making of her breakfast," declared Eowyn, marching towards us and rubbing her hair dry with a towel.  
  
"Ah, if it is not the dew-bedecked golden flower of Rohan!" I declared. She gave me a half-hearted glare.  
  
"I ought to bedeck you!" she snorted. "Though I suppose I had that coming." To her credit, Eowyn was not one of those who could dish out abuse but not take it.  
  
"I didn't want to miss saying goodbye to you," I told her, and she smiled.  
  
"An 'Eowyn, awake!' would have served just as well."  
  
"Aye, but not been half so much fun!" She snorted again.  
  
"Was that Eomer I heard out here? Where did he get to?"  
  
"He went in search of his lost clothing, my lady," declared Elladan, his own grave self once more. She raised her eyebrows.  
  
"He didn't come out here in the altogether, did he?"  
  
"He was not together by any means, my lady, but neither was he entirely unclothed," answered Elrohir with equal gravity. The twins looked at each other and exchanged evil smiles. Eowyn shuddered.  
  
"They frighten me when they do that," she confessed to me in a whisper.  
  
"That is because you are a wise and sensible woman," I whispered back, then aloud, told her, "Come! If I do not eat my breakfast soon, my lord will make me ride without it, cruel taskmaster that he is." There was a chuckle from Imrahil's direction, as Eowyn and I went to get our food.  
  
  
Eomer did not appear again until we'd had breakfast, saddled our horses, and were preparing to leave, and when he did, he was dressed and armored and very much in his role as Eomer King. To Prince Imrahil he gave a writ with his seal, so that we might pass unhindered through the marches of the Mark, and a cordial clasp of arms. After some hesitation, he also clasped arms with Elladan and Elrohir, who under Imrahil's stern eye were perfect models of decorum, though they each claimed to be the other once again. Finally, he turned to where I stood with Eowyn, grasped my right arm with his left, pulled me forward, tipped my head back and planted a quick, hard kiss on my lips.  
  
My first impulse was to clout him up side of the head, but I restrained myself. My second impulse was to jump backwards in blind panic and yank myself out of his grip, but I did not do that either. Instead, I took a deep breath, a step back, and gave him a wry smile.  
  
"I appear to be quite the recipient of royal favor this morn," I said lightly. "You honor me overmuch, my lord king. The next time we part, I shall insist you say farewell to all who ride with me in the same manner as you do me." As if on cue, Elrohir and Elladan moved both their horses a step closer, identical looks of polite interest on both their faces. Eomer looked at them, and his eyes widened just the slightest bit.  
  
"How very even-handed of you, Lady Hethlin." I simply nodded, turned with relief to Eowyn, and gave her a hug.   
  
"He really likes you, you know," she whispered in my ear.  
  
"I rather noticed that," I replied. "You take care of yourself. I'll see you in a few months."  
  
"Look after Faramir for me." I raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
"Now that is cold and cruel, lady!" She grinned wickedly.  
  
"I trust you more than any of those court wenches! After all, you've been doing it for years!" I nodded, turned from her, and mounted Fortune. One of Eomer's esquires brought the stirrup cup, and he offered it to each of us in turn, giving me one of his blinding smiles. Prince Imrahil seemed rather withdrawn all of a sudden, though I could feel his eyes upon me, and the very moment the last toast had been made, he whirled his rather restive stallion about and took off down the road at a gallop, leaving the three of us momentarily taken aback. We quickly urged our horses to follow him, and I waved once more to Eowyn as I left, though I did not look back.  
  
  
We were a good mile down the Road before Imrahil drew rein, and we settled to a ground-covering trot. Caerith was still snorting and tossing his head, wanting to run some more, but his master restrained him, stroking his crest with a gentle hand.  
  
"We can leave the Road at any time, my lord," Elrohir suggested. Imrahil nodded.  
  
"Let us do so then. And gentlemen, ride ahead or behind as you please, but I should like some privacy to speak with Hethlin." As I expected they would, the sons of Elrond immediately cantered ahead of us, staying in sight but opening a sufficient distance between us that we could be assured that even Elven ears would not hear what we spoke of.  
  
The Prince did not immediately speak after we'd been left alone. We rode on in silence, and I looked over at him somewhat hesitantly, wondering if I'd behaved wrongly with the King in some way. With a sinking heart, I noticed certain things typical of Faramir when he was very angry--the same tight-held mouth, the studied blankness of expression, the smoldering grey eyes. I was sure his hands were white-knuckled within their gloves. I envisioned being given back to Aragorn in disgrace when this journey was finished.  
  
"I do not believe that Eomer knows what happened to you on the Pelennor, Hethlin," he finally said tersely. "At least I'd like to think that. I need you to be honest with me right now--are you attracted to Eomer in any way? Is there a desire in you to be the Queen of Rohan?"  
  
"If the Steward of Gondor cannot wed a barren woman, the King of Rohan certainly cannot do so," I said tentatively.  
  
"I did not ask what Eomer can or cannot do!" he snapped. "I asked if you have any sort of liking or affection for the man." My ire rose in response to his.  
  
"Have you seen any sign that I have encouraged him, my lord? I like him as the brother of my friend Eowyn. But my affections are not so easily given, and you know who holds my heart. I am not attracted to him as he is to me." Then, aghast at my impertinence, I asked in a much meeker tone, "Did I do something wrong, my lord? I wasn't sure what to do!" Some of the anger left his eyes, though they still glinted dangerously, and his mouth softened in concern. Even before he spoke, I realized that he hadn't been angry at me, he'd been angry for me.  
  
"Oh no, child, you did just as you should! That was a most impressive display of control, and I am very proud of you." I slumped in my saddle in relief and gave him a wan smile. "What I wish to know is if you are all right."  
  
"I am well enough, my lord,:" I assured him. "He simply startled me, that's all." Prince Imrahil sighed, and relaxed somewhat.  
  
"Well, let us hope that a few months absence will cool his ardor, or perhaps redirect it. If it does not, I will have a word with him." I gave him a wide-eyed look of concern, and he chuckled softly. "No personal details, Hethlin--I shall simply tell him you think upon him as a friend and would prefer he treat you as such."  
  
"My lord, I am capable of telling him that myself, should it come to it." The last of the anger in his eyes vanished, to be replaced with a gleam of approval.  
  
"Indeed. And it is your place to do so, rather than mine. But if you are intimidated by Eomer's rank when the time comes, then tell me, and I will do it, for you are my esquire and a lady in my keeping, and it is my duty to see that nothing uncomfortable befalls you-outside of course, of the inevitable discomfort of your training." We trotted along in silence for a few moments, then I said, "I do not recollect that you became angry when the Elf Prince kissed me this morning, my lord."  
  
"You did not seem to object to the Elf Prince's attentions. You certainly didn't get that slightly panicky look on your face. What, did you think I was the ogre guarding your tower, lady? It is not so, I assure you. I have better things to do than chastise your suitors--unless those suitors are unwelcome."  
  
"I like King Eomer, really I do, but it seems unfair to encourage him when nothing can come of it. Though I suppose we could enjoy something outside of marriage. I don't know how I feel about that. Elrohir says my situation gives me an advantage because I can take lovers without worrying about having a baby." I did not mention that Imrahil had been on the list of candidates Elrohir had put forward.  
  
"It seems a high price to pay for that sort of freedom," the Prince said quietly. I nodded vigorously.  
  
"Exactly! I'm sure there are court ladies who would like to have my problem, but I like children! Mother didn't have my brother until I was twelve, and my little sister came when I was fourteen, and I loved helping her take care of them. I'd like to have some of my own some day." He smiled kindly at that, and reached across the gap between us to pat my hand.  
  
"Then I hope that we can find some help for you among the Elves, Hethlin, for I suspect you'd be a very good mother. Shall we rejoin the others, before they have a chance to plot too much mischief?" I nodded, and we sent Caerith and Fortune into a gallop.   
  
  
We were in the Eastfold, heading north and west, our first destination a bend in the Entwash where the river was narrow and shallow, and horses could swim across fairly easily. The land was gently rolling, with occasional copses of trees, and we made good time, pushing hard, for we wanted to ford the river with plenty of daylight left, so that we might have a chance of drying out before night set in.  
  
The sons of Elrond continued to precede us, riding almost knee to knee, their keen eyes continually scanning the horizon for trouble. The Prince and I kept an eye out as well, but after our conversation of the morning, there was little talk between us. I was enjoying actually being out in the Wild once more, watching for birds and the scampering of rabbits or other small animals, noting which plants were flowering, and which had done so already. He seemed to be engaged in much the same sort of thing, and the only times we talked were when he pointed out something, or asked me a question about one of the flowers we saw. From things he said, I gathered that there were flowers that grew in Dol Amroth that did not flourish here, and some here that would not grow on the coast.  
  
"What about oranges?" I asked at one point, and when he inquired about the reason for my interest, I told him about Elrohir's passion for them, which made him laugh.  
  
"Actually, there are several trees in my gardens, but they don't fruit reliably. If the winter is cold at all, we lose the fruit. The blossoms are lovely though, and they have the most delightful smell. I import oranges from Harad when they're in season. You might be able to grow them in South Ithilien, down around Poros--should we ever get the border settled enough." When I recounted what Elrohir had said about his grandmother growing some in Lorien, he was quite impressed. "We will be seeing some wondrous things there, Hethlin. I'm very glad I got the chance to go."  
  
"I'm glad you got the chance as well, sir." And we settled into companionable silence once more.  
  
  
Mid afternoon, we reached the Entwash, glittering in the sun, its banks boggy and reedy. The twins had in fact picked a very good place to cross, a portion where it narrowed after splitting into two streams and reforming.  
  
"Fish for dinner tonight, I think," declared Elrohir. "My lord, if it suits you, I propose we cross, make camp on the far bank and spread our things out to dry there."  
  
Imrahil nodded agreement, then looked over at me. "Have you ever swum a horse across a river, Hethlin?"  
  
"Arcag, once, over to Cair Andros. He didn't like it much." I reflected for a moment. "Then again, there wasn't much he did like."  
  
"Well, if you've done the Anduin, this will be a duck pond. And Fortune is good in the water, unlike some I could name who think it an excuse for a good roll." And he slapped Caerith's neck affectionately. So it was that we unbuckled our saddlebags, bows and bedrolls and food sacks, and held them above our heads in an effort to keep them dry. I gave the King's letter to Prince Imrahil, whose arms were a little longer than mine. The horses went into the water willingly enough, pushing off powerfully when the water got deep, till only their heads were above the water. The river was shallow enough that I could feel their hooves hit bottom a couple of times during the passage. We were all of us thoroughly soaked from the neck down by the time it was over, but we had had some success in keeping our essential items dry.  
  
We came up out of the river with water pouring off of us, the Prince booting Caerith hard when as predicted, he decided that he wanted to roll in the mud of the riverbank. Fortune did not roll, but once we were well out of the water, he decided to shake himself off while I was still on him, thoroughly rattling my teeth in the process. Elrohir chuckled. He and Elladan were already stripping the elven horses of their tack, and turning them loose. He indicated a copse of trees at the top of the bank.  
  
"Elladan and I will find some supper, if the two of you will set up camp." He had taken a length of cord from his saddlebags, and was tying it to an arrow, while his brother did the same.  
  
"You may turn your horses loose as well," Elladan said. "Nimfaun and Alagos will see to it that they do not stray. And they will be more comfortable if they are free." The Prince agreed to this plan, but we walked them up the hill before we unsaddled them, that they might carry their gear to its resting place. Once released, Caerith charged right back down to the riverbank to roll, and for the first time I heard the Prince of Dol Amroth curse, for despite Elrohir and Elladan also cursing him in Elvish about scaring away the fish and muddying the water, the stallion persisted until his beautiful silvery coat was liberally coated with green-brown slime.  
  
"I have a stiff brush, my lord," I told Imrahil sympathetically.  
  
"It almost makes me wish it would rain tonight, when I really have no desire to be anything but dry," said the Prince, bending over and sliding out of his hauberk. "He's always been like this. Perfect manners, perfect gaits, perfect mouth, a great war horse--and a pig where muck is concerned. One can't have everything, I suppose." I struggled out of my mail as well, and we spread the coats in a patch of sunshine.  
  
"They're going to rust, you know," said the Prince glumly. "Well, perhaps they'll have sand barrels in Lorien, or clean them for us with Elven magic." We then spent a busy time setting saddles, armor and padding in the sun to dry as best they might. We wrung the heavy gambesons and cloaks out together, Imrahil taking one end, and I the other, and twisting them in opposite directions. I went down the hill and dragged the elven equipment up with ours. Elladan and Elrohir were in shirts and breeches, sleeves and legs rolled up, stalking like strange-looking herons in the river, bows aimed at the water.  
When we had done all we could to take advantage of the fading afternoon sun, the Prince suggested I go ahead and get a bath downstream of the Elves and change out of my wet things. He was busy building a fire pit, and I said I would when I'd gathered the wood for it, since by the triumphant noises coming from the river, our supper was not far off.   
  
So I took the small hatchet I carried strapped to my saddle and went in search of deadfall. Fortunately, a tree had fallen in the small copse, and it was the work of a few minutes to hew off some sizable, well-seasoned branches, and chop them to a usable size, though it raised new blisters on my hands, which had become unaccustomed to such work. I'd worked up a completely different set of blisters clerking. A strange thought occurred to me as I chopped--I wondered if the Prince's odd third son, Amrothos, could tell what people did for a living from the calluses on their hands.  
  
He asked me what I was chuckling about when I returned, and when I told him, he laughed as well. "It's a possibility. 'Rothos gets interested in the strangest things--he studied Haradrim poisons in some depth last year. The less said about that, the better! Before that, he was comparing the rates at which different metals rusted or corroded, and the gardeners were wroth because there were these ingots scattered all over the gardens. I had to make him move those. Every time I come home it's something different."  
  
"It sounds like life is interesting there, at least." I handed him the branches I'd collected, and watched somewhat critically for a moment, but for a Prince he laid a competent fire.  
  
"Oh yes. Every time someone complains about one of his little experiments, 'Rothos agrees to end it--and proclaims that his next subject of study will be serpents or scorpions or stinging flies. That usually quiets them right down. Go get your bath, Hethlin."  
  
I did as my lord commanded, taking my dry things and sword belt and soap down to the river, and had a most refreshing time of it. I missed that wonderful elven towel of Elrohir's, for it was not much fun pulling dry clothes on over my damp skin, but at least I was clean, and after a bit relatively dry. I returned to the camp to find the fire burning well, the fish cleaned and roasting on sticks lashed over it, and the twins heading back down to the river for their baths. The Prince was lashing together a framework of green limbs to set near the fire and dry clothes, and he'd hung some clothing from nearby branches as well.  
  
"The dew will be falling soon, so I thought it better to bring them under the trees. Better to smell like smoke and be dry, then river water and soggy. Though I suspect that even with extraordinary efforts, things are still going to be somewhat moist tomorrow."  
  
"I didn't even think twice about this sort of thing much when I was in Ithilien," I commented. "It's only taken a couple of months in the City to make me soft."  
  
"It doesn't take long to get accustomed to the comforts of life," Imrahil agreed. I helped him turn the fish, and set out some bread and cheese and dried apple slices from the food sack. Elladan and Elrohir soon returned, still shirtless and drying their hair and promised to finish preparing the supper while the Prince finally got his bath. Elladan tossed him his towel. He started down to the river, and after a moment's consideration, I took up my bow and followed him, situating myself with my back to the river and a good vantage of the bank to either side.  
  
He made no comment about my presence--he must have become resigned a long time ago to always having people about him. And very little time passed before the sounds of splashing ceased and I heard him coming up the bank behind me.  
  
"You can turn around now, Hethlin." I did so and found him in breeches and untucked shirt, rubbing the towel over his hair in amazement. "The Elves make the most extraordinary things," was his bemused comment.  
  
"You just wring it out, and it's almost dry again," I told him, "And it folds up very small." He wrung it, and touched it, and shook his head.   
  
"I think I feel a covetous moment coming on. Such a thing would be incredibly convenient on a long campaign."  
  
"Perhaps they'll have them in Lorien," I suggested. Imrahil grinned.  
  
"Perhaps they will," he agreed, "But it's a poor guest who steals the towels when he leaves, don't you think?" Laughing, we went back up the hill to find that the elves had fancied up the meal considerably in our absence, toasting the cheese on slices of bread, and soaking the dried apples in a small bowl of wine, then dolloping them with honey.  
  
"Where did you get honey?" I demanded of Elrohir, who simply looked smug. "I shall expect some for my tea in the morning."  
  
"Perhaps, Snowsteel," he purred, "If you're very sweet to me in return." I sighed, shook my head in disbelief, and sat down to one of the finest wilderness meals I'd ever had. We blew on hot bits of fish and ate them with our fingers, dipped apples out of the communal bowl, gobbled the bread and cheese, and passed around the Prince's wineskin till things got quite jolly. Eventually, replete and warm, we all sat back and stared owlishly at the fire. Elrohir was leaning back against the trunk of the nearest tree, and after a moment, Elladan slid down and laid his head in his brother's lap, whereupon Elrohir's hand began gently stroking his brother's raven head, as one would thoughtlessly stroke a cat in one's lap.  
  
"Elladan and I sang for our supper last night," he declared, "So one of you must entertain us now." He gave me a meaningful look, and I gaped at him in utter panic. The frogs on the riverbank below us had better singing voices than I did, and the Rangers had long ago learned not to include me in their rare song-fests. And I knew no piece of epic poetry well enough to recite it. My look of horror must have been so profound that it prompted in him a rare expression of mercy, for he did not press the issue. Instead, he turned to my lord.  
  
"My lord Prince, your esquire has failed this challenge of arms. As her lord, it is your duty to take up the challenge yourself." Imrahil cocked his head to one side and gave him the princely eyebrow full force.  
  
"You realize, that because of my position, I am more a patron of the arts than a participant in them." Having relented once this evening, Elrohir was not inclined to do so again.  
  
"But you, my lord, have had the advantage of a princely education in a highly cultured land. Surely a man who has had to debate the Council of Minas Tirith most of his life can tell a simple story." Imrahil took the wineskin from him, and drank a deep draught from it.  
  
"A simple story, you said? Will honor be served by any sort of story at all?" Elrohir declared that it would, whereupon the Prince took another swig of the wine, dragged the back of his hand across his mouth like the veriest peasant, said quietly and seemingly to himself, "Whyever not?" He tipped his head back, his eyes closed, and announced, "Here is the tale of the Dread Pirate Elchirion and the Seventh Stone of Saranac." When he looked back at us, there was a slightly manic gleam in his eye I'd never seen before. He sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and began.  
  
What followed had to be one of the funniest half hours of my life, as Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth proceeded to tell a bedtime story to the sons of Elrond-- about the Dread Pirate Elchirion, his First Mate and explosives expert Amrothos, his Second Mate and dress and customs expert Lothiriel, and their quest to find the Seventh Stone of Saranac to break a heinous curse that had been laid upon Good King Elphir. He did their voices and the voices of everyone they met in the course of their misadventures, each one distinct and never confused with another--the pirate and his crew, the poor, cursed sovereign, the King of the Sea, the Naked Woolly Bear, the Great Sea Serpent, the Queen of the Island of the Woman Warriors, and the Two-Toed Upside Down Treecat--and his voice and face and gestures were so expressive that he made the whole silly tale come alive.  
  
The wineskin had unfortunately come round to me about the time the tale reached its horrific climax and the Dread Pirate Elchirion had to make the ultimate sacrifice to obtain at long last the true Seventh Stone--he had to Kiss a Girl. I laughed at the wrong moment, and ended up with a noseful of wine. Elrohir handed me his handkerchief, laughing softly, and Elladan sat up, laughing as well. Prince Imrahil brought the story to a satisfying and triumphant conclusion, with the good king saved, and the heroes sailing off to new adventures, and we all applauded mightily, while he sat and with becoming modestly accepted our accolades.  
  
"A well-told tale, my lord," Elrohir declared. "Honor is satisfied. And we are so satisfied that we wish you to take the last watch. Elladan and I will do the mid-watches, and Hethlin the first, since I'm sure she's wide awake now." That I was, now that the burning in my nose had subsided, and I went and got my bow and laid it close to hand by the fire.  
  
"I'll lay your blankets out for you if you like, Hethlin, while I'm doing mine," the Prince offered, cool and courteous once more.  
  
"Thank you, my lord. Did you make all of that up yourself?"  
  
"All tales are related, child, or so the Elves say. I but gathered a few poor fragments, and put them together."  
  
"Well, you put them together marvelously well. I haven't laughed that hard in months!"  
  
"I'm glad you enjoyed it." And indeed, I could hear the pleasure in his voice. "Good night, Hethlin."  
  
"Good night, my lord." I moved about the fire, turning and rearranging some of the clothing so that it could finish drying, and listening to the others as they bedded down for the night. Elladan and Elrohir were talking quietly.  
  
"He does voices very well," Elladan declared rather sleepily. "Do you remember, brother, when Glorfindel would tell us stories and sometimes he would do the voices if we begged him to?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Father never did voices when he told us stories."  
  
"No, but they were good stories nonetheless."  
  
"True enough. But I always liked the stories with the voices best. I think that Imrahil does voices better than Glorfindel did."  
  
"I don't think I'd be telling Glorfindel he's been outdone by a mortal in anything, brother--unless you really want months of arms lessons at the hand of the Balrog-slayer!"  
  
"Perhaps you're right, brother. Good night."  
  
"Good night, Elladan."  
  
Silence fell, and I sat watching the moon rise through the branches of the trees, smiling now and again at some remembered silliness from the story, and wondering exactly who Glorfindel was and what a Balrog might be. 


	26. The Wold

Author's Note--This was either going to be an extremely long chapter or two shorter ones, and as I am going to be too busy this weekend to work any more upon it, I thought you folks might appreciate having the first of the two shorter ones. Many thanks to Elizabeth Wyeth for the medical information that enabled me to do nasty things to a character in this chapter. What can I say--you always hurt the ones you love! Here you go, Anglachel--remember, it's always only a matter of time before I drop an anvil on a happy Heth's head!  
  
  
*SNOWSTEEL! WAKE!* I heard Elrohir's mental voice scream in my mind even as his physical one cried out to Prince Imrahil. My eyes snapped open as arrows began hissing into our campsite, and I rolled from underneath my blankets. An arrow thudded into the ground right beside my head, and I left strands of white hair twined around it as I scrambled to my feet. Drawing sword and knife, I hurried to interpose my body between the arrows and my lord, who was but a moment or two slower in doing as I had done.  
  
He had just stood up when an arrow came flying into the camp from the opposite direction the others had done, and smacked into his left thigh. I heard him grunt in pain, but without hesitation he bent and swept up his blade, yanking it from its sheath. The arrow was one of the largest and thickest I had ever seen, black shafted and fletched, but it did not seem to be deeply embedded.  
  
"I'm all right," he gasped. "I can fight." The foul stench and noise of an orc band permeated our camp, and then they were upon us.  
  
  
We were three days from our crossing of the Entwash, and we'd finally left the riverbank five miles to the south of us. We were camped a bit east of the eaves of Fangorn Forest, and the barren hills of the Wold rose to our west.. The journey had been uneventful, save for Elrohir's sorrowful consumption of his last orange, and the increasingly colorful language with which the Prince greeted Caerith every morning, for so long as we were in proximity to the river, the stallion had gleefully continued his love affair with scum. By now, despite the Prince's morning ministrations, his dappled silver coat had a distinctly green cast to it, and this disturbed the Prince, who was a man particular about appearances, rather more than it might have almost anyone else.   
  
Nonetheless, we'd had some pleasant conversations, the four of us. The twins had described some of the wonders we could expect to see in Lothlorien and parts of its history, and the Prince in return had spoken of his princedom, and some of his sea voyages as a young man, much to their fascination. We'd not encountered any Rohirrim patrols, but as the Prince had pointed out, Theoden had emptied his land to come to the aid of Minas Tirith, and orcs had been reported in the East Emnet even as they rode to Gondor. Therefore, we kept a careful watch at night. Our concerns had been justified when, on the day before, we had happened upon an isolated farmstead where the farmer and his wife had greeted us with sword and scythe in hand--until they'd seen my Gondor livery.  
  
Then the Prince, surprising me with some reasonably fluent Rohirric, had had speech with them and discovered that there was rumor of a renegade band of orcs in the area, possibly holed up in a cave area in the Wold. After that, we'd ridden at the ready, but had seen no track or indication of them. Now, it seemed, they had found us.  
  
The Prince and I had taken the first and second watches, while Elrohir was on the third, and Elladan would have taken the dawn watch. We had fallen into a pattern of the Elves taking the late-night watches because of their superior night vision. Now I was very glad we'd done it that way, for Elrohir had been armed and ready, and given us enough warning that we'd been able to do the same ourselves. Had the Prince or I been watching, I suspected they would have come much closer before being detected.  
  
Elladan was on his feet, armed and somehow armored, by the time they came in, and he and his brother, back to back and fighting as if one mind directed them both, started working their way slowly towards us. There were too many of them, had been my initial, panicked thought, and there was something wrong--some of them were the sort of orc I was used to, and even sported the Red Eye among their gear, but some of them were far larger, and had they not possessed some similarity of feature to the smaller ones, I might have taken them for small Trolls, or some other sort of creature. But long habit and training suppressed my fear, and I moved into the proper position to guard the Prince's back.  
  
"What.....are the big ones?" I panted as I swung and shoved and stabbed. I could feel the Prince moving equally quickly at my back.  
  
"Uruks. Giant orcs." Was his terse reply, but it told me what I needed to know--that when all was said and done, they were orcs, and could die as orcs did.  
  
Twenty of them at least there were pressing about us, snarling for the chance to blood their blades in our flesh--too many, I had thought in the beginning, but I had not counted on the company I was keeping. The sons of Elrond had been slaying orcs for nigh on two thousand years and practice, as they say, makes perfect. And the Prince of Dol Amroth was one of the doughtiest warriors Gondor possessed. Had the orcs stood off and simply peppered us with arrows, they might have acquired the easy feast of manflesh they were seeking. But impatience or a lack of leadership had sent them within sword's reach and most of them died before they'd even realized the enormity of the mistake they'd made.  
  
As I have said before, I do not remember more than bits of battles, and this one was very brief. But I do recollect getting a glimpse of the twins in the heat of it, identical quicksilver death, though Elladan did his slaying silently while Elrohir spat insults at his foes, the foul language incongruous on his elegant Elven lips. I myself had a bad moment after I'd slain one of the smaller Mordor orcs. A Uruk shoved its way forward, and made a mighty swing at my neck. I threw up my knife to parry, and my much abused left arm would not hold beneath the force of the blow. Seeing both his blade and mine coming in, I instinctively dropped to my knees. The side of my knife hand was somehow laid open by his blade as I disengaged, and I stabbed up awkwardly with my sword, luckily managing to slide it deep under the lower edge of the creature's cuirass.  
  
With a growling sort of gurgle, the Uruk fell over on top of me, his blood gushing warm over my midsection and chest. The Prince, feeling me fall away from his back, called out.  
  
"Hethlin! Are you well?"  
  
"Fine, my lord," I assured him, my voice somewhat muffled by the body lying atop me. Crawling cautiously out from underneath the Uruk, I found the battle to be over. Elrohir was checking the bodies, and I saw him plunge his knife into the eye of one of the orcs that still breathed with the casual air of a goodwife wringing a chicken's neck. There was a nick on his left cheek, and a tiny trickle of blood traced a path down his pale face.  
  
Elladan, seeing me covered in blood, asked concernedly, "Is that yours, Snowsteel?"  
  
"Just this," and I showed him my injured hand. He nodded.  
  
"We'll clean that up in a bit. Brother, are you well?" Elrohir came back to us, sheathing his knife.  
  
"A scratch on the cheek is all. My lord prince?" Imrahil limped over to us.  
  
"I'll need some help getting this out," he said matter-of-factly, indicating the arrow. "But it's not far in and it doesn't seem to have hit anything important. It's not bleeding that badly." He looked at my hand. "I have a roll of clean bandage in my saddlebags, Hethlin, why don't you--" he paused, a strange look passed over his face and he shivered. "Now that's peculiar." Elladan gave him a sudden, sharp glance then leapt forward to catch him by the elbow as he swayed. I took his other side, and he sagged heavily against us, trembling. Elrohir frowned.  
  
"Poison arrow. Well, that was just what the evening was lacking to make it absolutely perfect." Without further comment, he moved to where his saddle and Elladan's were sitting, took them both up, complete with saddlebags, and came to the fire. Removing the saddlebags, he stacked the saddles one atop the other, and set them at the head of the blankets closest to the fire.  
  
"Imrahil, sit you down here near the fire," Elladan said as we assisted him over to the blankets, and eased him down till he was sitting up against the stacked saddles. "And I'll have a look at your leg. Brother?"  
  
"I'm working on it, brother," replied Elrohir to the unspoken question, rooting through the two sets of saddlebags, and pulling items out. Elladan drew his dagger.  
  
"Hethlin, pull his boot off, if you please. After that, would you look for anyone who has arrows that match this one and search them to see if they actually had the wit to be carrying an antidote for this? That's a Uruk arrow--don't trouble yourself with the small ones."  
  
"Aye, Elladan," I replied, throwing my liege a very worried look. The shivering had increased, and his brow was furrowed with pain. Elladan was slicing the leg of his breeches open. I moved off to collect Uruk packs and pouches and bring them closer to the fire to examine.  
  
*Do not fret, Snowsteel,* came Elrohir's voice in my head. *Do you have any idea how many times this has happened to Elladan and me in the course of two thousand years? By now, such things no longer affect us much, but we always travel with the means to deal with them. Your lord is in good hands.*  
  
There had been six of the large Uruks, and three of them had had bows. Figuring that the bowless ones would not be carrying the antidote, I collected the possessions of the three archers. It was slow work with only one good hand. As an afterthought, I also collected their quivers.  
  
The twins could be heard near the fire. "Elrohir, hold his leg. I'm sorry, Imrahil, but this is going to hurt."  
  
"Just get it over with, please," the prince gritted between his teeth. There was a moment's silence, then a muffled cry. When I returned to the fire, Imrahil was breathing fast and shallow, his eyes half closed. The wound, on the outside of his thigh, about six inches above the knee, was bleeding slowly and steadily. The area about it was beginning to swell. I could see where Elladan had had to widen the original injury to free the barbs from his flesh. I set the packs down, and began to rummage through them. Elladan came over to help me.  
  
"I brought the arrows as well."  
  
He nodded. "That was well thought of. I'll look those over in a bit--you stay away from them with that hand. Poultice, Elrohir, if you please."  
  
Elrohir, who was mixing something in the small bowl, snorted. "Brother dear, this is not Imladris, and you are not Father with six eager healer acolytes in attendance. Strive for some patience, if you please."  
  
"Patient I can be, on my own behalf," noted Elladan, rifling through one of the packs. "The Prince, however, may not be so leisurely. Fighting with that arrow in his leg has already driven the poison deep into his veins."  
  
"I am working as swiftly as I may," Elrohir protested, "And look, it is done now." He moved to where Imrahil's saddle lay, searched the saddlebags and found the bandage, then returned to his patient, and began smoothing his concoction into the wound. The Prince's mouth tightened but he made no sound. Elladan tossed the pack he'd been searching through aside with a growl of disappointment.  
  
"Nothing there. How about yours, Snowsteel?"  
  
"Nothing in this one either. Just a flask of that liquor they make." I sighed, and started on the last pack, while he looked through the smaller pouches. Elrohir loosely bandaged Imrahil's leg while we continued our search. In the end, it was fruitless--besides food and more liquor and the sort of dirty oddments one might expect, we found coins of various denominations, a brooch that was obviously Rohirric, and a beautiful gold vial that looked promising for a moment, but in the end turned out to contain perfume. Elladan then turned his attention to the arrows, and found that only one of the archers had possessed the poisoned ones, and they were but half the number in his quiver. He brought one to the fire in gloved hands, examined it carefully, sniffed it, then snapped the head and about six inches of shaft off of it, and placed it in a small leather scroll tube that had been emptied of the parchments and pens it had carried.  
  
"I'll want to examine this by the light of day, but it looks as though it's not a vegetable poison. Probably spider venom-based--that's the most common sort they use."  
  
"Then shall we give him what we usually take, brother?" Elrohir asked, and when Elladan nodded, he pulled a glass vial and a tiny silver cup out of a beautifully carved box.  
  
"Four drops, I think," Elladan told him, after a quick, assessing glance at Imrahil. Elrohir measured the dose into the cup, then carefully poured a small amount of water into it, and took it to the Prince.  
  
"Here, my lord, this will make you feel better soon." He had to hold the cup to Imrahil's lips, as he was shaking too badly to take it himself. The lord of Dol Amroth drank it down obediently and grimaced.  
  
"Tastes bad enough to distract me from my troubles, that is certain," he murmured, then closed his eyes. "That did not agree with me well at all, I fear." Elrohir reached out and took both his wrists, long fingers rubbing them in a certain area between the long bones.  
  
"You need to keep it down. You must try for the next few minutes, give it a chance to work." Imrahil made a small nod, and sagged back against the saddles. Elrohir continued the odd massage. "Hethlin, would you bring my blankets over here? We need to get him warmed up." I did so, being careful not to touch them with my bloody hand or shirt. Elrohir thanked me, and Elladan came over and tucked the blankets around Imrahil, checking his forehead and his pulse. He frowned slightly, then turned to me.  
  
"Let's see to that hand, Heth, and then you can get cleaned up." We moved around to the other side of the fire, and he cleaned the slash with water and some wine, set a couple of stitches into the deepest part of the cut, then bandaged it .  
  
"Keep that dry, or I'll have to redo it," he instructed me. I looked over at the Prince.  
  
"Will my lord be all right?"  
  
"He should start feeling better in a couple of hours," Elladan assured me. "Get cleaned up a bit, then go over and share the blankets with him, try to make him comfortable. He is still shivering, and you did not get your full share of sleep. Dawn is not far off. I will take a look at him in daylight, and we will decide whether to travel then or not. I believe we should at least move camp into Fangorn--if there are more orcs, they won't follow us in there."  
  
"What about you and Elrohir?" Elladan smiled that slightly superior smile.  
  
"The Firstborn can do without rest somewhat better than can Mortals--if necessary, we can even dream as we walk or ride. And it was time for my watch anyway."   
I nodded and went to clean off, an awkward and not totally satisfactory process as it was dark, and all I had was water and the one unbloodied sleeve of my ruined shirt. But I peeled it off, and sponged and dabbed till the orc blood was removed from my skin, then clad myself in clean clothes, ignoring the elves, who were certainly near enough to get an eyeful. It was not that I'd become any less modest over time--it was just that Elrohir had already seen me, and for all I knew that meant Elladan had too. I did not fully understand the depth of the bond between them. But if Elrohir was right, nudity was a matter of no interest to them in any event. Certainly, neither of them commented, and I returned to the fire barefoot, feeling rather much better, though a faint smell of blood still lingered.  
  
The brothers had been busy, and my blankets too had been used to pad the saddles into a more proper backrest. I could not tell if Imrahil were awake or not--there was the barest gleam of an eye visible beneath the crescents of his almost-closed lids. His breathing still seemed labored to my ears, and as Elladan had said, he was still shivering. Carefully, I slid beneath the blankets on his uninjured right side, and considered how best to proceed. Thinking that my shoulder was probably a softer, more pleasant pillow than a blanket-covered saddle, I moved as close as I could, then slid my arm beneath him and drew him onto my shoulder. He stirred and groaned a bit.  
  
"Hethlin?"   
  
"Aye, my lord. How are you feeling?"  
  
His voice was little more than a whisper. "Head hurts. And stomach. And I'm cold."  
  
"Well, I'm going to try to help you with that."  
  
"Would......appreciate that greatly." Ever polite, was the Prince. So I carefully wrapped my arms around him, drew him as close as I could and pulled the blankets more tightly about us both. Anxiously, I felt his forehead and found it hot. He turned his head into my neck and sighed. After a time, the shaking lessened, and he seemed to relax. Relieved at his improvement, I drifted off to sleep as best I could.  
  
  
Right after dawn, I was awakened by Imrahil's voice in my ear.  
  
"Hethlin....I'm going to be sick....." Snapping awake, I let go of him, and helped him roll to the side so that he would not soil the blankets. He retched for a couple of minutes, dry heaves, and when I helped him lie shakily back, I noticed a trickle of dried blood beneath his nose. There was a matching spot on my shirt where he'd rested his head. I got up and tucked the blankets about him. "Sorry about the....unpleasantness, child."  
  
"Don't you worry about that, my lord. How are you feeling this morning? Still cold?"  
  
"No. Not cold. My head hurts......much worse. Stomach too. And my hands....feel odd."  
  
"You just rest quietly, and I'll go get Elladan." It had become apparent over the last several hours that as far as healing went, Elrohir deferred to his brother, and I assumed there was a reason for that. As I rose, I noticed that the bodies of the orcs had been dragged away. Elrohir was curled up on the other side of the fire, his eyes wide and staring, while his brother was coming back into camp.  
  
"How is he this morning, Snowsteel?"  
  
"He slept for a while, but a little while ago he woke me up and said he was sick, and started retching. His nose bled last night, and he says his hands feel funny, and that his head and stomach hurt worse." My tone turned accusing. "I thought you said he'd start feeling better!" Elladan's pale brow furrowed in concern.  
  
"By all rights, he should have. Let me wash up, and I'll take a look at him." He moved towards the waterskin.  
  
"Did you move all the orcs?"  
  
"Yes, the stench was bothering me. And it was something to do. I would have checked on the Prince earlier, but he seemed to be resting peacefully, and I didn't want to disturb him."  
  
"I'll start breakfast, if you like." Elladan had dampened a small cloth and was thoroughly cleaning his hands.  
  
"Why don't you give Brother a kick awake instead? In fact, why don't you just kick him anyway? I'm sure he's done something in the last little while to make him deserve it." I gave Elladan an irritated look.  
  
"I can do simple cooking, you know."  
  
"I do not claim the contrary, Snowsteel--never have I seen food burned with the verve and vigor you bring to the act." Growling, I went to where Elrohir lay, and gave his backside a sharp nudge with my foot. The staring eyes blinked, and awareness returned.  
  
"Wake up. Fix breakfast."   
  
"Your wish is my will, oh surly one. Whatever is the matter?"  
  
"I can cook, you know," I declared, as I stalked off to take care of the morning's necessities. There was a chuckle behind me.  
  
"Of course you can. Silly Brother! No one cooks things quite as......completely as you do."  
  
  
I returned to find Elladan examining the Prince's leg. I had not seen it since the arrow was removed, and I was horrified now to find that it had swollen greatly since then. The formerly loose poultice bandage had in fact been constricting the flesh, and Elladan had had to remove it. He was bathing the injury and speaking to Imrahil in a soothing tone, asking about his symptoms. The Prince was not a complainer by any means, but it was evident that he was in a great deal of pain. At Elladan's request, I brought the water skin, the washcloth and a cup over, gave the Prince a drink and cleaned the blood off of his face while Elladan applied a fresh poultice and bandage. When he'd finished, he gave Imrahil a reassuring smile and covered him back up. He then walked with me to the far side of the camp. Though no words were exchanged, after a moment Elrohir took his skillet off the fire and joined us.  
  
"We have a problem," Elladan said as soon as Elrohir arrived. "This is not a normal orc poison, or it would have responded to the antidote. In fact, giving him the antidote may have done more harm than good. I wish I had not done it." I looked at him in amazement.  
  
"I thought you knew all about these things!" Elladan grimaced.  
  
"Much as we of the First-born would have Mortals think we never make mistakes, Snowsteel, it is simply not the case. In fact, the mistakes we make tend to be wonderfully huge ones. At some point in the future when we are not so pressed for time, I will tell you of some of our more marvelous miscalculations. But for now, I can tell you that I do not know what this poison is, or how it will affect him. It appears to be acting like a venom of some sort, and that gives us more time than we would have with other things. I am hoping that the poison was old enough or dilute enough that he will be able to overcome the effects. He is a warrior after all."  
  
"Those Uruks were from Isengard originally," said Elrohir thoughtfully. "They bore the White Hand on their armor. Curunir, being a wizard, could have had the poison brewed out of almost anything. He might have been working on something that was more potent than the usual things orcs use, though I hope for Imrahil's sake that is not the case."  
  
Elladan sighed in frustration. "I can keep the wound poulticed, and hope to draw some of the poison out, but I fear to give him much of anything else, even willowbark. His wound refuses to cease to bleed." Elrohir frowned.  
  
"Definitely no willowbark then. It sounds like we need Father, Brother. Shall I take Nimfaun and Alagos, and try to make a run to Lorien?" Elladan considered this for a moment, then shook his head.  
  
"We're over three days hard ride away now. You could cut it to two, pushing them, but they would be spent when you got there. We would be slowed somewhat on the mortal horses, and as he is not a small man and Hethlin and I would have difficulty getting him into and out of the saddle, we would not have made that much progress toward you. It would probably take you over a day to return to us, if you could find a horse among the Galadrim the equal of ours, so no time would be saved by your going, and you would be in greater peril alone. Perhaps when we get closer." Elrohir nodded.  
  
"Very well, I am going to finish making breakfast--it looks to be the last hot meal we may be eating for a while. The two of you see to him and start packing."  
  
  
A little over an hour later, we had eaten, packed and saddled and were ready to depart. It had been decided that I would hold Imrahil before me on my saddle, and switch back and forth between Caerith and Fortune. The Prince's armor and my own had been strapped onto Nimfaun and Alagos. Elladan spoke to me quietly before the twins brought Imrahil over.  
  
"We ride hard as he can stand, for as long as he can bear it, do you understand, Hethlin? Into the night, if the horses will endure it. Are you able?"  
  
"Aye, Elladan. I can do it. I don't want to have to explain to Faramir that I lost his uncle!"  
  
"Hopefully, it will not come to that, Valar willing." But there was something lurking behind his silver eyes that made me uneasy. The Prince, when handed up into my keeping, was a bit frightened about his sudden lack of strength, a bit embarrassed by the situation he was in, and being Imrahil, a bit amused despite it all.  
  
"Ah," he said as sweat broke out on his brow and the shivering started again, "if only Eomer of Rohan could see me now." I couldn't help but chuckle as I urged Caerith forward. 


	27. Fangorn

Author's Note--Well, it's not Tuesday, Tia, but for as long a chapter as it is, I don't think I did too badly! Many thanks to the folks on Henneth-Annun, particularly Mike, for all their help with Eagle aerodynamics, and to Elizabeth Wyeth once again, for medical details and evil inspiration.  
  
  
The Prince's sense of humor faded as the day dragged on. There was no way he could ride before me in the saddle that did not jar his wounded leg with every step the horse took. He was continually nauseous, and his headache had become excruciating. His nose bled a couple of more times, and he shivered and sweated with a fever for most of the day. He had no strength, though what little he still possessed he used to try to help balance himself so as to hamper me the least he could. He could not eat, and managed only small sips of water. Several times between regular rest breaks, we had to stop so that he could retch. His leg was swollen hugely underneath the blanket we'd wrapped about it, and livid bruises were beginning to bloom on it, though strangely it felt cold rather than warm to the touch. It had never stopped seeping blood. Elladan was checking his toes every time we stopped--from what he told me quietly off to the side, if poison did not kill him, there was still a good chance he would loose the leg.  
  
His embarrassment and misery at being reduced to this condition of helplessness were very evident. But he never complained, and I tried to be as matter-of-fact as possible, for he seemed most comfortable if I behaved so. Besides the occasional sip of water, he made only one request the whole day, as we were walking the horses to give them a breather after an extended canter.  
  
"Would you talk to me as we ride, Hethlin? I would find it...comforting to listen to you--it would help me think of other things."  
  
"What would you have me speak of, my lord? I can't do stories like you do, with the voices." He leaned back against my shoulder and gave me a weary smile.  
  
"Oh, whatever pleases you, child. Voices are certainly not necessary. Tell me about the Rangers, if you like."  
  
So as we rode, I told him how I'd come to be a Ranger of Ithilien, or rather, my early days as a Ranger. The parts about the orcs and my long illness, after all, were hardly something he would enjoy listening to. I told him about shooting the two Mumaks. And I told him about some of our more notable raids and exploits, and some of the funnier things that had happened, for even war has its comic moments, though they tend to be dark comedy at best.  
  
I talked a lot about Faramir, for I could tell he enjoyed those stories the most. One of them even drew a quiet chuckle from him. There was much, I realized, that he did not know about how his youngest nephew had spent his time as a Ranger. He did not speak or respond much at all to the stories, and he kept his eyes closed most of the time, for it helped, he said, with his nausea. But when I would reach a stopping point, and wait for a moment to see if he were awake or asleep, he would make a tiny nod of acknowledgment, and I would continue.  
  
Every couple of hours we would stop to rest the horses, change over from Caerith to Fortune or vice versa, help him down and tend to his needs. There were certain things he did not want me to witness, and I respected his privacy, leaving him to the twins at those times. Indeed, I was very glad of the chance to stretch my limbs and move freely when we stopped, and tended to leave him to them altogether, using the time to tend to the Dol Amroth horses, who were wilting a bit under the punishing pace we were setting. I was somewhat wilted myself. My left hand was paining me, and my left arm was the one that had to do the work of holding Imrahil on the horse. I could not have pulled a bow if my life depended upon it, so it was perhaps a good thing that it was strapped onto whatever stallion I wasn't riding at the time.  
  
As the day drew on to dark, the Prince's condition grew worse. The bouts of shivering became increasingly severe, and there were times when he tensed against me in response to some sort of pain, clenching his jaw so that no sound would escape. I held him as carefully as I could, and spoke soothingly, feeling frustrated and helpless that I could not do more. Finally, as dusk fell, I felt a dampness against my neck. Thinking that his nose was bleeding again I reached up, touched his cheek by mistake and found the moisture there instead. He said nothing, but gave a shuddering sigh, and turned his face into my neck a bit more. I closed my eyes for a moment in sympathy, then drew the blanket up higher around his face and called out to Elladan.  
  
"Elladan! Find a place to stop for the night!"  
  
"We ought to press on a bit longer, Snowsteel. I told you how it would be."  
  
"The horses have had enough. I have had enough. And the Prince has had enough."  
  
He turned back in his saddle to look at me, and nodded, though his face was grim.  
  
"Very well. I suppose we have made good enough progress for the day." We slowed the horses and turned to the left, to pass under the trees of Fangorn.  
  
  
I had never seen such trees as these--huge and hoary, shaggy with moss and lichen. Rank upon rank of them stretched back into dim darkness, like great columns. We went a little way into the forest, not too far from the edge, but far enough to prevent any other orc bands from attacking us. When Elladan found a place that suited him, we halted, and he came over to help the Prince dismount. I helped him slide down into the elf's waiting arms, struck anew by how the twins were so very much stronger than they appeared to be.  
  
"Hethlin, would you start seeing to the horses? Brother--"  
  
"I smell it. There must be a spring nearby. I'll find it."  
  
"See if there is anything here we can use for poultices. We are running low."  
  
"Very well, Elladan. Dare we light a fire here?"  
  
"He needs one. You know the stories of this place as well as I. I think we can, so long as it's just deadfall we use."  
  
"I'll gather some wood as well, then." And he pulled his bow from off his shoulder and slipped off into the darkness.  
  
I started stripping saddles and bridles. In the company of the Elven horses, it was not necessary to tether Caerith and Fortune--they stood calmly as if trying to prove that they were as civilized and intelligent as their daintier kin. It was a peculiar thing, really--one normally didn't just turn four stallions loose together without trouble. I brushed Caerith first, for he was the last horse I'd ridden, and he submitted appreciatively. Then, as I saw to Fortune, the huge war horse stepped delicately over to where his master was propped against one of the great trees, Elladan working on his leg once more. He dropped his nose first to Imrahil's hair, blowing in it, then to his chest. The Prince reached up slowly, his hand shaking, and stroked Caerith's nose and cheek.  
  
"Hello there, lad," I heard him murmur wearily. "You did a good day's work today, didn't you?" The stallion nudged him, and Imrahil groaned. Elladan spoke sharply to the horse.  
  
"Enough!" he said in Elvish. "Go seek water and grass! Your master is safe in my hands.' Caerith threw his head up with a snort, and trotted back over to his companions. I finished giving Nimfaun and Alagos a quick brush-off, with a promise of better grooming come the morning, and they led the two mortal horses off into the woods in the direction Elrohir had taken.  
  
"How's this?" I asked Elladan, indicating what I thought was a likely place for a fire pit. He nodded. "That looks good."  
  
"Shall I go try to find some wood as well?"  
  
"No. Set out the blankets will you? Make them into one big bed. The two who are not on watch tonight will stay with him and keep him warm. I will go look for wood when I am done with this, if Elrohir has not returned with some. Elven eyes are better in the dark."  
  
I laid out the blankets of all four of us in as soft a bed as I could contrive, rolling my cloak into a pillow, then helped Elladan carry the Prince over and settle him in. He sighed in relief as we laid him down, and almost immediately drifted off to sleep. Elladan checked his pulse, and frowned slightly.  
  
"Stay with him," he told me quietly. "I am going to go see what's keeping Brother." At that moment, Elrohir returned, waterskin slung over his shoulder and carrying a large armload of wood. He brought the wood to me, and took the waterskin over to Imrahil. With a bit of effort, he roused him and persuaded him to drink, then settled him back.  
  
"Come brother," he told Elladan, "There is quite a bit of deadwood out there. Let us go get more before it becomes totally dark. Nothing for poultices, but I found some mushrooms."  
  
"Mushrooms?" Elladan's ears didn't perk up exactly, but he certainly became very attentive. "Where?"  
  
"I will show you. Snowsteel, will you start the fire?"  
  
"Of course. You two be careful. Is there anything I should do for the Prince while you're gone."  
  
"Keep him comfortable. Talk to him if he wishes it. Watch him carefully while he sleeps. If it seems as if he is getting worse, try to send to Elrohir. Heat up some water for tea or washing once you have the fire going. That is all you can do," replied Elladan. "We will not be gone long." And they departed.  
  
By the time they returned, I had a fire ready, and was heating a small pot of wash water for the Prince. Elrohir commandeered the fire so that he could fix supper, and Elladan chased me away from the Prince so that he could give him a sponge bath, for the Prince refused to have me anywhere about when that was done. Feeling rather rejected all around, I sat down with my back to a tree, and drifted off. I was roused some time later by Elrohir who presented me with a cup of wine and a plate that contained mushrooms fried in bacon and bread that had seen better days a week ago, but wasn't half bad when toasted with cheese on top.   
  
"Eat your dinner and go to bed, Snowsteel," he told me. "We have another hard ride tomorrow. Elladan and I will do the watches tonight."   
  
"When are you going to get some rest?"  
  
"We traded off a bit today, while riding. I would watch while he dreamed, then I would dream while he watched. We will be well enough. But you have had the hard work of it today. Get some sleep, for you will need your strength."  
  
I went over to the blankets, took off my armor, weapons and boots and slid in beside the Prince. His forehead was warm, but the rest of him felt chill to the touch, so I snuggled in as closely as I could. He made an indistinct noise, and shifted a little towards me. After a bit, Elladan came over, divested himself of his equipment, and slid in on the other side, after checking Imrahil's forehead and pulse.  
  
"Will he be all right?" I asked quietly. Elladan looked troubled.  
  
"That I do not know." Calmed and warmed by our proximity, the Prince settled more deeply into sleep. I soon followed.  
  
In the middle watches of the night I awoke to the sound of retching once more. Elladan and Elrohir both supported the Prince at the edge of the blankets. This time, it was not dry heaves, and there was a coppery tang of blood in the air. I rolled out of the blankets, put new wood on the fire, and fetched the waterskin and a cup and towel. The retching lasted for a couple of minutes, to be followed immediately by some sort of horrible seizure, the likes of which I had never seen before and scared me half to death.   
  
When all was done, Imrahil lay a spent, unconscious, blood-spattered wreck in Elrohir's arms. All thought of any more sleep was abandoned as the three of us labored make him as clean and comfortable as possible. This was somewhat difficult to do, as he'd sweated through or bled on almost everything he possessed in the last day. But we cleaned the blood from his face and chest and hair, and clad him in his last clean shirt. When he woke again an hour later, we gave him some cool water to rinse his mouth out and drink. Then, because he protested against being laid flat again, I sat in the blankets and held him in my arms against my shoulder, stroking his hair gently, and talking to him as I had during the day. He protested weakly that such efforts on my part were unnecessary, but he was clearly more comfortable being held thusly and eventually he lapsed into slumber once more.  
  
  
The dawn did not bring reassurance. The long lines of orange light that shone into our dark forest citadel lent no color to his gray face. And there was a sunken look about his eyes that struck fear into my heart, for I'd been on too many battlefields to not have seen that look before. His was not the face of a man who was going to live to see two sunrises after this one, or even one.  
  
Elladan and Elrohir were fixing breakfast silently, but I could tell that Elrohir was speaking to his brother mind to mind. When he felt me, he looked up and gestured that I should join them. Moving very carefully, so as not to jostle the Prince, I slid out from underneath him, and tucked the blankets closely around him. I then stretched thoroughly, and made my way over.  
  
"We have been discussing what we should do today," said Elrohir in a very low voice. "Whether we should ride on or stay here." He handed me a bowl of porridge, and a spoon.  
  
"Why would you want to stay here?" I murmured, taking a bite. "We need to get him to Lorien."  
  
"I carry some poppy with me, in case one of us is seriously injured," said Elladan quietly. "It would ease his pain." Astounded, I stared at him.  
  
"Then why haven't you given it to him already?" Elrohir answered for his brother.  
  
"Because, Snowsteel, it's not something you want to do to someone in his condition if you think there's a chance they'll survive." I stared at the two of them, their starry eyes dimmed by sorrow.  
  
"No!" I exclaimed softly, in denial of their superior knowledge and my own eyes. "You said your father could help him!"  
  
"And so he could, we believe, even now, where he here or Imrahil there," murmured Elladan, not without sympathy. "But too great a distance lies between. I do not believe the Prince will live to see Lorien. And in the unlikely event he does, I fear he will be too far gone for even Father to do any more than what I propose to do here."  
  
"With all due respect, my lord Elladan, you've been wrong before. We mortals only get one life. You'd best be very certain of yourself before you shorten his!" Elladan's face paled, and his lips tightened. I realized suddenly that I was treading on thin ground, for this was the face he'd worn when slaying the orcs.  
  
"And you, Snowsteel," he said in a voice of honeyed venom, "You had best be sure that your desire to subject him to an agonizing ride is because you truly believe he is strong enough to survive it, and not because you cannot bear to tell Faramir of the death of his uncle." We were glaring at each other in mutual offense, when a quiet voice came from the other side of the fire.  
  
"You know, it is peculiar. I seem to be losing my sight, but my hearing works....as well as ever. I think perhaps.....that we should all have a little talk."  
  
  
"Gentlemen, my lady," Imrahil said softly, between labored breaths, "I ....would have the truth from you." Elladan knelt down beside him and took his hand gently.  
  
"What is it you would know, my lord prince?"  
  
"How many days to Lorien from here?"  
  
"If we continue at the pace we set yesterday, we will arrive there tomorrow afternoon."  
  
"Can the horses.....keep going at that pace?"  
  
"Nimfaun and Alagos, certainly. Your two--I'm not sure."  
  
"And is it....your considered opinion......that I will last that long?" He closed his eyes against a sudden spasm of pain and drew his uninjured leg up a bit, stifling a groan.  
  
"That is also something about which I am not certain, my lord," said Elladan regretfully. The spasm passed, and Imrahil relaxed again, taking a deep, gulping breath.  
  
"But what do you believe? I....know all about how healers are not supposed to kill hope, Elladan. But I have asked....the truth of you."  
  
"I do not believe you will survive to see Lorien, my lord," Elladan admitted. Imrahil smiled wryly.  
  
"There, that was not so hard, was it? And if that is the case.....then it seems certain arrangements should be made."  
  
"Arrangements, my lord?"  
  
"Yes. Would you all come closer? I'm not....seeing particularly well right now." Elrohir came over and knelt beside his brother. I set my uneaten porridge down, went to the Prince's other side, and took his other hand and squeezed it. He turned his head in my direction.  
  
"Hello, Hethlin. First, the three of you must swear that if I should die....my family will never know what really happened. I took an arrow in the heart.....and was dead before I hit the ground. I never felt a thing. That.... is what you will tell them. Swear it." We all swore by our fathers that that was what would be said, and Imrahil smiled once more, this time with relief.  
  
"Good. There is no sense in....grieving them with the details of this. Secondly.....Hethlin, death cancels an oath of fealty--"  
  
"My lord, you're--"  
  
"--Do not interrupt me, child. It's hard enough to talk as it is. You were sworn to me, not my house.....so if I should die, your promise to me is done. But that still.....does not free you from your oath to the King." He turned his head slowly towards the twins. "So, if I die, I want the two of you...to promise you'll speak to the King. Tell Aragorn that if....I was ever of any service to him, he will release Hethlin from her oath.....and let her return to Ithilien, where she has lands, and friends."  
  
"If that is what you wish, Imrahil, then Elladan and I will see it done," said Elrohir softly, though he gave me a peculiar look.  
  
"Hethlin, in return for your life back," and here the Prince actually managed to give me a pained grin, "there is something I want you to do for me."  
  
"Anything, my lord," I promised. The grin widened.  
  
"Oho! That was easy! I am....almost tempted to extract all sorts of promises.....from the lot of you while I have the chance! Such as having the two of you"-- and this was addressed to the twins--"leave poor Eomer of Rohan alone." Turning back to me, his voice grew serious once more. "This is a simple one, though.....one you should not mind. I want you to promise...to look after Faramir for me. Not for the rest of your life. That would hardly be fair. Just...for a couple of years, till the lad is settled. If things go badly....he will be hurt, and needing his friends about him. It is not good....to be disappointed too often. Or to lose...too many people that you love. I sometimes wonder....if that were not his father's problem."  
  
"You can rely upon me, my lord." He nodded slowly.  
  
"I rather...thought I could." He sighed, stiffened once more in pain, then relaxed. "One more thing. If it becomes necessary, do try to bury me somewhere... I may be found again later. I should like to lie with my wife at Dol Amroth. There. Arrangements taken care of. Let me know....when you are ready to ride. For I think I do wish to ride. If it turns out I must perish, I would prefer to do it.....on the back of my warhorse.....and in the arms of a gallant lady. Must be....because we're in Rohan." His eyes closed.  
  
"My lord, I have something that--" Elladan began in the gentlest of voices.  
  
"--I know, my lord prince. And if I require it, I will let you know." The voice was suddenly that of the man who had held the western half of Gondor safe for most of his adult life. "Now give me a moment with Hethlin, please." The twins went off to finish their breakfast, and he opened his eyes and looked in my direction.  
  
"Hethlin, this is not......the tragedy you think it is. All those young boys who died....at Ithilien and Osgiliath and Minas Tirith....and the Morannon--that is a tragedy. I have had a loving wife.....four beautiful and clever children who happen to love me, a.....perfectly wonderful little grandson, wealth and power, victory in battle against impossible odds--it would be...churlish in the extreme to complain just because....it was cut a little short. I am a very....fortunate man."  
  
"If you say so, my lord."  
  
"I do. Now, we both have jobs to do. You...have a message to deliver to our new Queen. And I.....I have to prove that Elladan doesn't know what he is talking about. Go finish your breakfast." His eyes closed once more, and he said nothing else.  
  
I squeezed his hand gently and brought it to my lips, and received a faint smile in response. Tears stinging my eyes, I got up, and despite his command, walked out of the camp and indeed out from under the eaves of the forest, into the rising sunlight. Only one thought filled my mind as I did so--that I had killed the Lord of Dol Amroth. For if I had not been so insistent on his coming to Lorien, this never would have happened. He would still have been safe in Minas Tirith, advising the King and playing with his grandson. The grandson, at least, was too young to remember him clearly or grieve much should he pass. But the delightful, quirky family who'd gathered about him as its center after one sad bereavement already.....they would be inconsolable. And Faramir, whose uncle was not only the father to him that Denethor should have been, but the rock he leaned on in an uncertain world, might be something even worse.  
  
I had promised Imrahil that I would look after Faramir, but wondered if I were going to be able to fulfill my oath, or if Faramir might come to blame me for his death. And as I stood there in the growing light, my mind played over endlessly my memories of the Prince--his loving farewell to Faramir before we left for the retreat; his gentle compassion in the middle of a pitched battle, as he took his wounded nephew from me on the Pelennor; his whimsical delight in a child's cloud game the day of our picnic. His sympathetic concern at court when my life had been wrenched onto a new and unforeseen path, and the following day, after the assault. His wistful desire to see Lorien, and the gentle affection of his farewell to his family in the courtyard of the Citadel. The way he'd seen to my welfare first after the orc battle, though his own hurt had been the greater.  
  
He was a warrior, and a gentleman in the truest sense of the word. I strongly suspected that the only reason he was going to ride out today was that he believed that I would feel better if we kept trying to save him to the very end, not because he had any real belief that he was going to survive. That he would be willing to undergo such agony simply to make me feel better was simply indicative once again of the sort of man he was. Inwardly, I raged against the unfairness of life, for he did not deserve the degradation and pain of what was happening to him now. He may not have felt it to be a tragedy, but I certainly did. Through our link, I could feel Elrohir's concern and sympathy.  
  
*It is not your fault, Snowsteel. He is a prince of men, and follows his own road. It was the desire of his heart, not your suggestion, that brought him to this pass.* I did not answer as the tears began to spill down my cheeks, though he knew I had heard him. Instead, as is often the case when folk are in extremity, I sent a silent prayer to the One, that He could heal Imrahil, or give him the strength to last till we could reach Lorien, or succor him in some other fashion. The rising sun glared into my tear-filled eyes so badly that I turned my back to it, and drew my sleeve across them. Sadly, I looked across the dark-green expanse of the Fangorn Forest to where it lapped at the feet of the Misty Mountains, then up the shadowed grey-purple of their flanks to where the morning sun kindled their snow-crowned peaks to glowing white-gold. A tiny black speck circled there, soaring on the warming currents of the morning air.  
  
I thought at first that my teary eyes must be tricking me, that it was merely a hawk or buzzard circling above Fangorn itself, but when it vanished behind a peak, then reappeared, I realized that it was in fact above the mountains themselves, and that if I could see it at this distance, it was a huge bird indeed.......  
  
Hope flamed then in my heart, new and bright and fierce, and without thinking of what I was doing or even knowing exactly how I was doing it, I gathered all my fear and sorrow and need and prepared to send them forth in a soul-deep call for help. Alarm sparked through my link with Elrohir-- *No, Snowsteel! You have to anchor!*--but I ignored him and launched myself out, and suddenly, faster than any wings, I had crossed the distance, I was there, soaring in the morning light, gazing down upon the wide world spread beneath me--and I was answered.  
  
*I hear, nestling. And I come.* White light splintered behind my eyes, and pain flared in my chest. I fell into darkness and knew no more.  
  
  
I woke to a truly incredible headache, and a chest ache, and the presence of a shadow looming over me. Someone was slapping my face lightly and repeatedly.  
  
"You! Have! To! Stop! Doing! Things! Like! This!" said Elrohir's voice. I groaned, and the slapping stopped. "No matter what you may think, it is not my life's calling to reunite your body and spirit whenever you come up with some new and clever way to rend them apart!" I felt him move, opened my eyes slowly, and found that I was nose to nose with the beautiful elf lord, who was straddling me and leaning on his elbows. His eyebrow arched.  
  
"Awake yet, Snowsteel?"  
  
"Aye."  
  
"Did you manage to talk to it?"  
  
"Couldn't you tell?"  
  
"No, I can't hear them." Elrohir seemed disinclined to move for some reason, so I decided to help him by placing my hands on his ribs and lifting him off. Strangely, I was incredibly fatigued and my rather feeble shove did not work, so on impulse, I dug my fingers in. To my very great surprise, he immediately yelped and rolled off of me. Filing away the very important piece of information that Elrohir was extremely ticklish for future consideration and plotting, I sat up slowly and painfully.  
  
"Aye, I talked to it. It's on the way. Or rather, she's on the way. Will they carry people? I thought I could ask her to bring your father to us. Or take the Prince to Lorien. If she won't do that, then maybe she could take the arrow and a message, and bring us some medicine back."  
  
"I know that Gwaihir has carried Mithrandir a couple of times, and Mithrandir went into Mordor with three Eagles to bring Sam and Frodo back. Surely she would do this for you."  
  
"I don't know. But I suspect we're about to find out how much influence I really have."  
  
"Are you feeling all right now?"  
  
"Aye. But I'm really tired for some reason." Elrohir gave a sigh of long-suffering patience.  
  
"Snowsteel, do you remember when I rescued you from the Grey Lands, and Elladan was chastising me about overextending myself and stopping my heart?"  
  
"Aye."  
  
"Well, there you have it."  
  
"You mean I--"  
  
"Very nearly."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Say 'Thank you, Elrohir.'"  
  
"Thank you, Elrohir."  
  
"Say 'You must allow me to express my gratitude in a more tangible way.'" I looked at him flatly for a moment, and he grinned.  
  
"Ah well. Worth a try. Why don't you wait here for your friend? I have already told Elladan what is going on. He is not particularly happy, but he is going to write a letter to Father."  
  
"What's the matter with Elladan? Surely he is glad that we can save the Prince."  
  
"Oh yes. He just won't like that we have to use an Eagle to do it."  
  
"What did he do to the Eagles? Or the Eagles do to him?"  
  
Elrohir smiled wickedly. "I suspect that you are going to find that out soon enough, Snowsteel. And I will not even have to be the one to tell you. Ah, but things are looking up, are they not?" He strode off, whistling cheerfully in the brightening morning light.  
  
  
The Eagle arrived a little over an hour later with thunder of huge wings. Elrohir had warmed my porridge back up and brought it and some toast out to me. He had used some of his precious honey in it, and with the prospect of rescue for my lord, I found that my appetite had returned. I finished my breakfast long before she came.  
  
"I am Gwaenaur," the Eagle told me, and I frankly stared, for she was half again as large as the Windlord and her feathers were more reddish than I remembered his being.  
  
"Hethlin, daughter of Hallaran, of the House of the Eagle," I said, remembering my manners and bowing. "My kill is yours."  
  
"And mine yours, nestling. What is the nature of your difficulty? You look to be in no danger to me."  
  
"It is not me, it is my....chieftain," I explained, hopefully couching it in terms she would understand. "He was struck by a poisoned orc arrow two days ago, and lies near death. We have been trying to get to Lorien, but fear that he will not last long enough to reach help. I had hoped that you might be willing to take word to Lorien, and bring Lord Elrond to us here, or that you might take my chieftain there." The Eagle cocked her head to one side in that way that they had, and regarded me with one platter-sized golden eye.  
  
"We are not beasts of burden, nestling. Have your elders not told you this?"  
  
"My father died before he could tell me about you at all, wind lady." I gave her a beseeching look. "I would not ask were the need not great."  
  
"What a world it has become, when a scion of the House of the Eagle does not know her own heritage." The great beak clacked in disapproval or annoyance, a very impressive sight. "Who is this chieftain to whom you owe allegiance?"  
  
"Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth." The head swiveled, and the other eye regarded me.  
  
"The Swan Lord? The males who went to the Black Gate spoke highly of him. Gwaihir said he was very polite." I was beginning to get the idea that good manners were very important to the Eagles.  
  
"Aye, wind lady. And he is, very polite indeed."  
  
"Where is this chieftain? I will look upon him before I decide."  
  
"He is a short way within the wood. We camped there to avoid the orcs." Though Eagle faces did not lend themselves to much in the way of changes of expression, I got the idea that this did not much please Gwaenaur. But she made no comment as she started waddling towards the forest beside me. I remembered Elrohir's remark about large piles of dirty brown feathers. It was perhaps not quite that bad, but the earth was certainly not her element.  
  
Since the trees were so old and vast, the first branches were a great distance from the ground for the most part, so she did not have to duck her head. But there was no way she could have spread her wings and taken off, and this made her uneasy. She became even more agitated when we arrived at the campsite, and she saw Elladan. She fluffed her feathers and made a loud, angry hiss.  
  
"Despoiler! How came you here? You keep poor company, nestling! Say he is not your mate, for if he is, we will come to you no more!"  
  
"No, lady, he is not my mate. The sons of Elrond travel with us." I was rather worried at this development, but Elrohir, though he had made sure he was close to Elladan, did not seem to be frightened or concerned.  
  
Gwaenaur hissed once more, then seemed to dismiss the matter, and paced over to where Imrahil slept by the fire. She regarded him with one eye, then the other, then turned her head almost upside down and looked at him that way.  
  
"The upper airs are cold. He does not look as if he would survive the journey." I nodded.  
  
"He may not, and if he does not, it is no fault of yours, wind lady. But if he remains here with no help, he will not survive either."  
  
"I see that. The Elves are not the only ones who see more than what is in plain view." She seemed deep in thought for a moment. "Very well, I will do this thing. But there will be a price."  
  
"Whatever you wish, wind lady, I will do it," I promised. It was perhaps rash of me to swear so, but I felt reasonably sure the Eagle would ask nothing of me that I was not capable of undertaking. Her head swiveled in my direction for a moment.  
  
"It is not you who will pay the price, nestling, but him." And she fastened her gaze upon Elladan, who stiffened and gave her a glare.  
  
"If you wish me to take the Swan Lord to Lorien, then the son of Elrond must, upon his return to Imladris, go to that place which he knows of, and return to us that which was taken from us--with an apology." Elrohir chuckled.  
  
"Ah yes, we come to it at last!" Elladan snorted scornfully.  
  
"It was eight hundred years ago, and he grew another one back six months later. You people just need to let it go." I was afraid the Eagle might hop over there and nip his head off, but she simply regarded him calmly.  
  
"Do you still have it then, son of Elrond?"  
  
"It hangs above the hearth in my room in Imladris. A far nicer place for it than one of your nitty nests." There was a decidedly arrogant curl to his mouth.  
  
"Then as it is close to hand, it should be a small matter for you to return it." The Eagle was being very polite and calm, I thought, under the circumstances. Elladan was being so intentionally provoking that I was about ready to nip his head off myself.   
  
"I slid halfway down that mountain on my rump! I broke my arm! And I was picking bits of rock out of my.....skin for six months afterward! I bled for that feather, and I intend to keep it! What use have you for it anyway?" The Eagle cocked her head.  
  
"Why none at all, really. It is, as you handed ones say, the principal of the thing. He was called Splittail to the end of his days. It was very humiliating."  
  
"It's not my fault you people are so obsessed with appearances!" Gwaenaur clicked her beak at him.  
  
"Our former Chieftain's tail-feather is the price for a passage to Lorien this morn. Will you pay it or no? Decide swiftly, for the day advances, the wind is warming, and I weary of being ground-bound." Elladan glowered at her, Gwaenaur fluffed and hissed at him once more, and Elrohir watched all of us as if he found this the most entertaining event of the Third Age thus far. I wanted to shake Elladan till his pearly teeth rattled, but pleaded with him instead.  
  
"It is the Prince's life we're talking about here, Elladan! Surely that is worth humbling yourself a little bit."  
  
"I paid for that feather with pain, Snowsteel."  
  
"However much you suffered," I snapped, "I doubt it was anywhere near what the Prince has endured this last day and a half! Stop acting like a child!" Elladan turned his three thousand year old glare upon me, but I was past caring. I swore to myself then and there that if he let the Prince die because of a stupid feather, I would come North and see that the whole of Eriador knew about it, from Forlindon to the Misty Mountains. Elrohir gave me a surprised look, and spoke up quickly.  
  
"Brother, you have held it long enough. Let it go." Elladan looked down at Imrahil for a long moment, then said softly, "Very well, you may have it back."  
  
"I would have your sworn word, son of Elrond." Elladan bridled at that, but the Eagle was adamant, and in the end, he capitulated  
  
"I swear, by my name and my house, that on my return to Imladris, I will go to the Place of the Eagles and return to them the tail-feather of their former Chieftain, with an apology for the humiliation I inflicted upon him and upon his house." Gwaenaur shrugged her wings a bit, and shook herself.  
  
"Very good. Wrap your parcel well against the cold, and bring him out to the Forest's edge. I will await you there." And with no further ado, she turned about and began walking slowly out of the wood.  
  
  
We wrapped the Prince in his cloak, pierced and laced close beneath his chin, so that the hood would stay up on his head, and all of our blankets. Beneath, he was clad in his shirt and gambeson, and his spare tunics were carefully wrapped about his leg and feet. Tucked within the gambeson was the tube containing the arrow, and a letter from Elladan to his father, detailing what we knew of the Prince's condition, and what had been done to him thus far. He roused somewhat when we readied him, but his fever had risen once more, and this time he was not coherent. He was also not happy when the twins bound the blankets lightly about him with the cord they carried in their saddlebags, but we deemed it necessary to insure that he stayed covered in the rushing wind. He wriggled a bit in protest as Elladan and Elrohir carried him out of the forest, then subsided into a glassy-eyed stupor.  
  
Gwaenaur, who had taken to the air once more, landed when we brought him forth and laid him on the grass. She looked with approval at our packaging.  
  
"That should serve. I will be as gentle as I can, but a little padding never goes amiss." The twins stepped back, and I knelt beside him quickly, and kissed him on the brow.  
  
"Valar guard and guide, my lord." He gave me an unfocused look and did not respond. I stood, and stepped back as well. The Eagle walked forward, and ever so carefully closed her left claw about Imrahil's shoulders. She then began beating her wings, and placed her right claw rather more loosely about his legs. Three good, hard downbeats, and she was airborne. The Prince cried out as she launched herself, then was silent. Pumping hard, she gained altitude swiftly, and before long was but a small black dot, shrinking as it flew north and a little east. The three of us stood and watched till it had vanished completely, then Elrohir threw an arm about my shoulders and Elladan's, and squeezed us both.  
  
"You gave him the best chance you could, the two of you," he said. I looked across him at Elladan.  
  
"I am sorry, my lord prince, for speaking to you so." Elladan gave me a sad smile.  
  
"No, Snowsteel, sorry I am that I made it necessary." Elrohir grinned.  
  
"Now that we are all one big happy family again, let us go find those lazy steeds of ours! I propose we ride as far as the Limlight, swim it and spend the rest of the day drying out and resting." Nodding agreement, we went back into the dimness of Fangorn to begin packing. 


	28. Lorien

Author's Note--I know, I know, I've never been this long updating before. But my muse flounced off in an outrage ("How could you do that to that nice man!") and then real life intervened in various ways calculated to keep me from my computer. Hopefully, it won't happen again.  
  
  
  
A little before noon, we were riding hard for the Limlight when Gwaenaur returned, swooping low over our heads. Nimfaun and Alagos were unmoved, but I had my hands full with Caerith and Fortune. Elrohir chided them sharply in Elvish, and they stopped their jibbing and jumping about. I dismounted, tossed the reins to him, and walked forward a way. Gwaenaur backwinged into a landing before me. I bowed.  
  
"Greetings again, Windlady. My kill is yours."  
  
"And mine is yours, nestling."  
  
"Did my chieftain survive his journey through the upper airs?" I tried to keep my voice even, but this question had preyed upon my mind for hours now. She cocked her head slightly to one side.  
  
"He lived still when I left him at the gates of Caras Galadon," she replied, "and the Elves took him swiftly within. If the Lord Elrond is in fact present, then perhaps he may yet be saved." I sagged a bit in relief.  
  
"Thank you so much for agreeing to bear him there." Her beak clicked a couple of times, and I got the distinct impression that she was amused.  
  
"Thank you for the opportunity to remedy an ancient wrong," she said, then, swiveling her head towards where the twins waited, she called--"Remember your oath, son of Elrond."  
  
Elladan muttered something I was certain was anything but polite, by Eagle standards or anyone else's and Elrohir chuckled. Gwaenaur turned her attention back to me.  
  
"You should come North, nestling. North, and to the mountains. It would give us joy to have one of your family among us again."  
  
"My time is not my own right now, windlady. I have sworn to the King to spend the next two years in Dol Amroth, learning the skills of a Swan Knight." Gwaenaur nodded understandingly.  
  
"If you are sworn, then you are sworn." The Eagles, it seemed, took oaths and vows almost as seriously as good manners. "Mayhap you will learn some valuable things there. But when you are done, we hope to see you one day."  
  
"I should very much like to come to you. I have never met my kin in the North. And there is much there I have heard of but never seen."  
  
"Much there is in the North that has been forgotten. Perhaps it will be remembered now that Aragorn is King. I must be off--to fly so low and slow was tiring, and I've not fed today."  
  
I gave her a guilty look. "I am sorry, windlady, that I have no kill to offer you." She fluffed herself, then settled her feathers and preened them a bit.  
  
"That is of no matter now, nestling--there will be time enough for that later. There are only rabbits in these parts in any event--and I could eat a dozen rabbits and barely taste them! I shall hunt stag closer to the mountains, or ride the winds westward and try to find some wild kine--that would be a feast indeed!" She took a step forward, bent her head, and gave me a gentle nudge with her beak, the force of which knocked me onto my rump quite easily. There was an amused glint in her golden eye which told me that had probably been her intention. Just a little reminder that the power with which I dealt was nothing to be trifled with.  
  
"May you fare better on the rest of your journey, nestling," she said warmly. I struggled to my feet, and bowed.  
  
"Fair air to you, windlady," I replied, and she gave her head an odd little bob, and launched herself into the air, the grass flattening under the force of her wings. I watched with my arm raised in salute till she was far away, then turned to the sons of Elrond, who'd been watching silently.  
  
"If he was alive when she got him to Lorien, perhaps he'll be waiting for us when we get there, Snowsteel," said Elrohir. "Take heart." I looked at Elladan for a confirmation, but his face was grave.  
  
"If he arrived at Lorien in the same condition as he was when he left, I would say that Father could save him. But we know not how the journey affected him. You should raise no false hopes, Brother." Elrohir gave him an ironic look.  
  
"I'll raise no false hopes if you agree to cause no unfounded despair, Brother." He smiled suddenly at Elladan. "Wet blanket!" he declared fondly. "Speaking of which, we near the Limlight, and there is much laundry to do."  
  
  
We crossed the Limlight without incident. I was careful to keep the King's message dry, and once again we were successful at not dampening our essential things with river water. We made camp as soon as we reached the other side, in a little copse of trees well above the river, and began doing our washing up. Or rather, I started washing clothes downstream of the twins, who were bow-fishing again. I had found a handy rock, and Elrohir had given me some Elven soap, and I was soon busy with both my things and the Prince's. Eventually, Elrohir joined me, while Elladan built a fire and prepared the fish. He found me furiously scrubbing at a blood spot on the neck of one of Imrahil's shirts.  
  
"Have a care, Snowsteel, you'll wear a hole if you keep at it that way," he commented good-naturedly. "Here, let me help you wring out what you've already done, and spread them out to dry." We did that, then he joined me in washing the rest of the things. For an immortal orc-hunter and warrior of renown, he didn't make a bad launderer, and he didn't rub holes in things. We took a break when the fish were done to eat a hot meal, then after we'd finished with the garments, Elrohir produced small containers of saddle-soap and oil, and he and I worked on the water-stained tack, a task much more to my liking. I paid particular attention to the Prince's gear, as if maintaining that meticulous man's equipment as particularly as if he were doing it himself would guarantee his survival. Elrohir knew, of course, exactly what I was doing, but he made no comment other than to say he thought I was an admirable esquire, and he was very glad that he didn't serve Imrahil himself.  
  
"And why is that?" I asked with a frown, for, I thought to myself, if he was going to insult the Prince while the man was possibly on his deathbed, then he and I were going to have words. Elrohir merely smiled sweetly.  
  
"As you are the only available member of his household, it falls to you to deal with the Scum Monster of Dol Amroth on the morrow." And he gestured to the river bank below us, where Caerith was wallowing in the scummy verge, grunting in pleasure, all his legs waving in the air. I leapt up, dropping the Prince's bridle, and charged down to the river bank, screaming at the stallion in my rapidly expanding collection of Rohirric curses, while the silvery laughter of both the twins floated in the air behind me.  
  
  
It was while I was repacking the Prince's things in his saddlebags that evening that I found the picture. Everything had been placed exactly so, by someone who was an experienced campaigner, and I was having trouble making things fit back in the way I imagined they'd been in the first place. I had tipped the bags to one side, trying to stuff a shirt back in, when a small, flat, silver case rolled out, and almost into the fire. I snatched it up immediately, singeing my fingers a bit in the process. It was slightly larger than the palm of my hand, and was oval in shape. There was a swan ship chased on it, which was no particular surprise--the man had them stamped on everything but his underwear. I looked at it curiously, wondering what it could possibly contain.  
  
"Go ahead, open it--you know you want to," said Elrohir from across the fire. Elladan, who was going to take third watch, had already rolled up in his cloak by the fire, but was not asleep quite yet, though he'd been staring raptly into the flames.  
  
"You really should stop encouraging her to follow her baser instincts," he told his brother. Elrohir gave him the eyebrow.  
  
"And how, precisely, is not encouraging her to follow her baser instincts supposed to benefit me?" he inquired. Elladan refused to answer, and turned his back on both of us.  
  
I examined it more closely, trying to determine how and if it could be opened. There were a couple of cunning hinges upon one of the longer sides, and an indentation on the other. When I cautiously pressed a fingernail into the indentation, the case popped open.  
  
"Oh, my," I breathed, as I looked upon the contents of the case. "Elrohir, look at this." He came around the fire and knelt beside me.  
  
"That is lovely, Snowsteel."  
  
It was a portrait, a very small one, but very detailed for its diminutive size, of a young woman. I thought at first it must be Lothiriel, for the dark, wavy hair and grey eyes with just the tiniest hint of violet were the same, but after a moment I realized that the shape of the face was different. Lothiriel was actually more beautiful than this woman--she'd inherited some of her father's more chiseled Elven facial features. I looked at Elrohir.  
  
"I thought it was Lothiriel at first, but I don't now. Could it be his wife?"  
  
"That would be my guess. Elladan, come look at this." Elrohir seemed rather more fascinated by the picture than I'd thought he'd be, and Elladan, once he got over his initial grumpiness at being disturbed just as he was drifting off to sleep, was also very intrigued.   
  
"Look at how the artist has absolutely captured her personality," he commented, shaking his head. "Mortals are the only ones who can do this--perhaps it comes of their desire to create things that survive beyond their own deaths." I looked at him in surprise.  
  
"Surely the Elves can do this--your people make even ordinary things so beautifully." Elladan shook his head.  
  
"Oh, we make very beautiful things indeed. But it tends to be a perfected, idealized beauty. We tend to avoid passionate feelings of every kind. It is not that we cannot experience them--quite the contrary. Elves can be moved by passion in a way Mortals simply cannot comprehend. But an Elf in the grip of a great passion of any kind is a tragedy looking for a place to happen. Do you remember when I spoke to you of our great mistakes? They were almost all of them the result of intemperate passions."  
  
"Like your sister's?" I asked softly. Elladan sucked in his breath, and Elrohir gave me a sharp look.  
  
"Yes, I suppose you could use Arwen as a good example," Elladan said after a moment's silence.  
  
"What do you think it's painted on?" I asked, thinking I'd best change the subject. "It doesn't look like wood."  
  
"I think it's Mumak ivory," replied Elrohir, seeming equally glad to speak of something else. Elladan took another long look at it, murmured "Extraordinary," then went back to the other side of the fire and rolled himself up again. Elrohir wondered aloud if he could find someone to make something similar--I gathered he had it in mind to make a present to somebody. Then he wished me a good night, and joined his brother--the evening was cool, and we'd sent all of our blankets with the Prince. Cloaks and shared body heat were going to have to suffice us this night.  
  
I looked at the portrait a moment or two longer before I put it away. The artist had captured the lady's kind demeanor, and she had wise eyes. She looked like the sort of person who had liked to curl up with a good book. I wondered if she had read bedtime stories to the children as well, if she had enjoyed the public life of being the Princess, and if she had loved her husband the way he seemed to have loved her. Then I closed the case carefully, and resumed my packing.  
  
  
The next morning I groomed Caerith while the twins fixed breakfast. I stood close enough that we could converse, but downwind so the dirt wouldn't fly over them. He was grunting in pleasure at the scratching of the brush, and I reflected again upon how the Prince was a man of extreme forbearance--I wanted to kick him hard in just such a place that he'd spend the rest of his life as a gelding.  
  
"If we ride swiftly until a little after dark, we'll reach Lorien this evening," Elrohir said. "Snowsteel, we'll do as we did when you were carrying Imrahil--you trade back and forth between the two stallions, and that should enable them to keep pace with us." Having decided thusly, we packed, saddled and rode as the sun had just finished rising fully above the horizon.  
  
That day was the day I decided I was finally recovered from my various injuries, for we rode as couriers did, hard and long, with only occasional pauses to breathe the horses. The land through which we passed was pleasant and rolling, with scattered copses of trees, but it was uninhabited. The Misty Mountains climbed skyward upon our left, and to the south and east of us lay the Field of Celebrant, where Eorl the Young had ridden to Gondor's rescue so long ago. I asked Elrohir at one stop why no one had settled here, and he waggled his hand.  
  
"Too close to the vile magic of the Golden Wood," he intoned sepulchrally, and Elladan snorted. There was little further speech between the three of us that day, and that suited my mood well enough, for my mind was on the Prince and whether he'd lived or died or lived and lost his leg, and what might happen in each of those three events. The weather was perfect for a hard ride, sunny but cool and breezy, and cottony clouds floated above us as we rode. One rather large one actually sprinkled us a bit sometime after midday, but it was a scant shower, hardly enough to dampen us, and rather refreshing. But by the time night was falling, that brief, invigorating respite was forgotten, and I was weary to the bone. The stallions, too, were beginning to flag. But we'd made very good time and the eaves of the Wood were before us. Despite my weariness, I looked upon the trees with interest--Elrohir had spoken of mallorns when he told the Prince and I of the Golden Wood, and they were every bit as impressive as he'd said. They seemed to be bearing golden flowers amongst their glossy new green leaves, and their trunks were silver grey. As we rode beneath their branches, a golden leaf or flower would from time to time part company with its parent tree and drift softly to the forest floor, which even with the approach of darkness gleamed pale gold.  
  
"Do you like the mallorns?" Elrohir asked. I looked about and smiled.   
  
"They are lovely. Do I remember rightly--the golden leaves are from last year?"  
  
"Aye--they remain on the trees till the new leaves grow. We're a bit past the loveliest time of spring, when the golden flowers are at their best, and the forest is a hall crowned and floored in gold with silver pillars, but this is almost as nice."  
  
"Indeed." I sighed, and almost as if my breath had given them form, we were suddenly surrounded by elves. They were clad in silver-grey, and so were able to go ghostlike among the silver-trunked trees. They carried bows longer than the ones the twins bore, or that Elrohir had given me, and they had grey-fletched arrows to hand, but not drawn. The leader among them greeted the sons of Elrond in a tongue that was obviously Elvish, but which I did not understand, and I was dismayed, for it looked as if all my hard study would be of no use in this place. Elladan caught my expression and smiled kindly at me, while Elrohir continued to converse with the Lorien elves.  
  
"Mortals have their Rohirric, and their Haradric and their Westron, and Dunlandish--why should you be surprised that the Elder Kindred have more than one tongue? Have we not told you we are of more than one kind?" I grimaced.  
  
"I understand that, it's just that I've apparently been studying the wrong one for this."  
  
"Not necessarily. There are those here who speak Sindarin--the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood do, as does Father, of course, and Arwen. It is true that few of the Galadrim do, for they are a folk that keep much to themselves these days, but of those few, some even speak the tongues of men. We will try to see that you have someone about you who can translate."  
  
"What are they saying to Elrohir?" Elladan listened for a moment.  
  
"Well, as to that, the conversation started with speculation on the trouble we'd gotten into in the outside world since our last visit, then moved on to you, and your reason for being here. Elrohir has been describing your exploits in the most fulsome terms, which would only embarrass you were I to translate them, and vouching for you as Aragorn's kinswoman and a Ranger of renown."  
  
"What exactly has he been saying about me?" I demanded, giving Elladan a suspicious look. He, however, was unmoved.  
  
"As I said, it would just upset you to know, so don't trouble yourself about it." His expression was bland, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch slightly, and realized that, as usual, one of the twins was having fun at my expense. The best way to deal with such things was to simply endure until they were over, so I ignored him, and slumped in my saddle a bit, waiting for Elrohir's negotiations to end.  
  
Eventually, he turned to us.  
  
"We walk from here on, Snowsteel," he said. "The warders will take the horses to some stables they have hard by. You needn't fear--they will be well cared for. Gather your things, and the Prince's and come." I did as he commanded, and after giving Caerith and Fortune a final pat, allowed them to be led away. Caerith, who had been restive ever since we sent the Prince away, seemed to suffer the attentions of the Elves most willingly, and that reassured me. Elladan and Elrohir took some of the Prince's things from me, then I spent a little time slinging the remaining saddlebags and food sacks about me in a way that allowed full movement and followed the twins further into the Golden Wood.  
  
Dusk became full night as we walked, Elrohir to the front and Elladan to the rear that I might not stray. We walked for a long time, and while at first it had been something of a relief to use muscles other than those used for riding, in time my weariness began to increase. After we'd been walking for what I felt was more than long enough, I began to hear the murmur of water, and smell the moisture in the air. Eventually, we came upon the bank of a river of good size, the waters spangled with fallen golden leaves and flowers.  
  
"This is the Celebrant, or Silverlode in your tongue, Snowsteel," Elrohir told me. "Take heart--we are only about seven miles from Caras Galadon once we cross." I gave him an irritated look.  
  
"Seven miles? After we cross the river? How exactly are we to do that? Were you perhaps proposing a refreshing swim?" He shook his head, unmoved by my ill humor.  
  
"Leave that to me." Moving to a tree near the river bank, he suddenly leaped for the lowest branch, and seized it, and grabbed something in the fork of the tree in his other hand. When he'd dropped to the ground, I saw he carried a small silver lantern. Kindling it in some manner I didn't quite see, he waited a moment for the light to strengthen, then holding it aloft, began to flip a shutter on its side, which caused intermittent blinks.  
  
"Rest a bit--this may take a little time." I did as I was told, dropping my bags immediately, pulling my cloak around my shoulders, and seating myself at the base of one of the huge mallorns. Ranger-style, I drifted off to sleep almost immediately, and it seemed almost immediately that I was wakened by Elladan's hand on my shoulder.  
  
"The boat comes." I shook myself a bit blearily, looked up and saw a graceful, grey elven boat approaching the bank, a silver lantern like to the one Elrohir had signaled with attached to the high, curving prow. There were two elves rowing, and the one in front jumped onto the shore, and dragged the boat up onto the bank a little, greeting the twins in the other elven tongue. Elladan immediately got in and seated himself in front of the rear rower, then indicated that I should sit in front of him. I did so with some trepidation, stowing my bags about me, for I'd little experience of boats save for the Cair Andros Ferry, which was large enough to carry horses. A much more stable platform it had seemed than this slender elven vessel.  
  
Once we were seated, Elrohir threw his things into the boat, then he and the front rower shoved it back into the current, leaping gracefully in as they did so. The rowers took up their oars, the twins an extra pair that had been produced from beneath the seats, and with four sets of arms rowing now, we slowly turned about, then proceeded back across the Silverlode. I was the only one not rowing, and tried to decide if I felt like a parcel or a princess as we moved silently across the dark water.  
  
On the opposite shore, there was actually a small harbor, with docks, at which were tied other, similar boats. Elrohir climbed out first, then gave me a hand up. His brother followed, and they exchanged what seemed to be courteous words of thanks with the rowers, who busied themselves with mooring their vessel. Then Elrohir clapped me on the shoulder.  
  
"Just a little farther, Snowsteel. Up the path a way, then we'll be at Caras Galadon." I shouldered my baggage and started trudging.  
  
"Will your sister still be awake when we get there? Or should I wait to deliver the King's message until the morrow?" Elrohir chuckled.  
  
"It is a fine spring night, not far advanced, and the stars shine very bright. I suspect that Arwen and many others will be awake a while yet." Elladan sniffed the air appreciatively. I remembered suddenly the Elvish affinity for starlight, and realized that most elves probably did not do the early to bed, early to rise routine of a farm family.  
  
"Indeed, brother, it is a fine night for singing." And with no further ado, they started to do just that, voices constantly tossing the melody and harmony back and forth between each other. The song they sang was in the language of the place, so I understood it not, but the music was enthralling, and lightened my steps on the last leg of the journey. Then the forest ended, and we came out into an open space under the night sky. I saw the city, and wonder made me forget my weariness altogether.  
  
Caras Galadon was like no city I had ever seen (not that I had any great acquaintance with cities outside of Minas Tirith); being in form a great hill covered with huge mallorn trees, and surrounded by a what looked to be an earth-work wall of great height, and a fosse or moat. There were hundreds of white, green and gold lights in the trees, so that the leaves glowed as if lit from within and it looked as if the boughs of the trees had netted the very stars of the sky in their branches. I could hear many silvery elven voices raised in song.  
  
Elrohir looked at me standing there with my mouth slightly agape, and, as he'd done not so long ago upon the occasion of our first meeting, put a finger under my chin and pushed it closed.   
  
"So, what do you think of Grandmother's house?" he asked with a grin.  
  
  
When I'd recovered myself somewhat, we proceeded up the path to the gates. As we crossed the white bridge before them, I could see no water beneath me. A fosse then, rather than a moat. There were many silver lanterns hung about the gate, but no guards that I could see. Elladan knocked and spoke something, and they opened, seemingly by themselves, for no one stood guard on the other side that I could see. They closed behind us as soundlessly as they'd opened, and we proceeded a short distance between two earth work walls until they ended and the path continued into the city proper. There were no elves walking about beneath the trunks of the trees, but I could dimly see the outlines of platforms and walkways in the branches of the great trees, which were the most massive in girth of any I'd seen, and certainly wondrous in and of themselves.  
  
Voices would sound above my head from time to time, and there was a sense and sound of movement. Truly, an entire city was there in the very boughs of the trees, and though the twins had described it as such, the reality was still a bit hard to absorb. Above my head, elven families were having supper, and telling tales, and fletching arrows, and doing whatever other sorts of things filled elven days. As we walked up the rising path, climbing stairs on more than one occasion, I craned my neck and gawked like a curious young child--which, in this company, was exactly what I was. Then we reached the summit of the hill, and I stopped feeling like a child, and started feeling like a dirty, raggedy crow.  
  
A beautiful, wide lawn stretched out before us, a smooth expanse of grass glowing greenly in the light of hundreds of the silver lanterns hanging from boughs overhead. There was a beautiful fountain in the middle of the lawn, with a basin that looked as if it had been made from silver, and the water sparkled in the lantern light as it spilled out of the basin and became a stream that flowed down the hill. The lawn was covered with elves, reclining on chairs or cushions, standing and conversing, or congregating around musicians who made sweeter music than any humans could. There were tables heaped with food, and servant elves who circulated with pitchers. We had apparently arrived in the middle of a celebration.  
  
The elves of Lorien were for the most part pale-haired, a bit of a surprise to me, who was used to the twins' sable-tressed beauty. Not that these weren't unearthly and comely as well--and they were dressed in their party best. Dainty filigree crowns, rings and necklaces, belts and girdles of cunning workmanship, most things having leaf or flower motifs, adorned their slender bodies and exquisite heads. They moved in a whisper of silk or brocade in muted forest hues and patterns, mostly grey, gold, green and white, and gems of white or green glittered on hands or heads or about waists. I was suddenly aware of every particle of dirt upon my person, every wrinkle in my much-abused black tabard, which had forded two rivers on the trip here, the fact that my boots were scuffed and muddy from the riverbank, my fingernails had grime beneath them, and my hair was a windblown mop with the shorter bits sticking out in a disordered frill in the back.  
  
"Couriers are expected to arrive with the dust of the road on them, Snowsteel," Elrohir said to me, sensing my embarassment. I gave him a grateful look, and he smiled wryly. "After all, no one would believe their tales of dangers weathered and travails endured if they arrived all pressed and polished."  
  
"I think the Prince would somehow manage to arrive in better condition than I have," I replied.  
  
"The Prince is an unnatural gentleman," declared Elrohir. "Unnaturally polite, unnaturally tolerant, unnaturally wise for a mortal, and unnaturally tidy. And he has esquires to keep him all buffed and polished. Of course you would fall short of his standard."  
  
"I'm supposed to be trying to achieve it nonetheless, I think," I commented mournfully. Elrohir grinned.  
  
"Well, tidy is a lost cause today, and wisdom will come with age. But you are tolerant in the extreme--look how you put up with me!--and you are polite enough for the Eagles. It will suffice for now."   
  
We moved forward through the crowd, which parted before us. Many of the party-goers greeted Elladan and Elrohir in their language, and one laughing lady ran lightly up and placed wreaths of mallorn flowers on their heads, then stared at me a moment, and ran back to a group of other ladies, which erupted into much quiet chattering upon her return. Close by the fountain was a silken canopy, and it was towards this that the twins moved. As we drew closer to the canopy, I could see that a couple of large, carved chairs were set under it, and that a pair of elves sat in those chairs. They stood up as we came near, and they were both tall, and incredibly beautiful, the most beautiful people I had ever seen. The Lord Celeborn's hair was moonlight on silver, Lady Galadriel's sunlight on gold. They were robed in white, and wore crowns of cunningly wrought garlands of leaves fashioned in silver and gold. Their eyes gleamed more brightly than did the crowns.  
  
"Elladan! Elrohir! Glad we are that you return to us unscathed!" the lord of Lorien exclaimed joyfully, and he stepped forward to embrace his grandsons, who met him halfway.  
  
"Grandfather, we are relieved to find you safe at home as well--we heard there had been trouble here," said Elladan with a smile.  
  
"Indeed there was, and we will speak of that another time--tonight is a victory celebration."  
  
"Who is your companion?" the Lady Galadriel inquired in a low, beautiful voice. I bowed.  
  
"Hethlin daughter of Hallaran of the House of the Eagle, my lady," I replied slowly, so as to not stress my limited command of Elvish overmuch. "I bring you the most respectful greetings of the King Elessar and a message for his betrothed, the Lady Arwen." The Lord Celeborn arched a fine silver brow, as the twins embraced their grandmother.  
  
"The House of the Eagle? Well, that would explain the Prince that arrived at our gates yestermorning." I looked at him hopefully.  
  
"Does he still live, my lord? For I have spent much of the last two days in fear for him."  
  
"He lives," answered Lord Celeborn, "and is the charge of Lord Elrond, who is caring for him even now, I believe, along with his daughter. I will not presume to speak to you of his condition, for I have not tended him. Elrond will be able to tell you what you need to know. Elrohir, Elladan, if you will escort the young woman to the West Flet, perhaps her mission may be accomplished and her questions answered all at once. And I know your father and sister will be glad to see you."  
  
They nodded and spoke their assent. Then the Lady Galadriel spoke again.  
  
"You are well come to Lorien, Hethlin daughter of Hallaran. When you have accomplished your task, should you wish to rejoin us here and enjoy the music, you will be welcome. Or we will see that you have a comfortable place in which to take your rest. Have you a difficulty with heights, as do many Men?"   
  
"No, my lady," I assured her. "Heights trouble me not in the least. I think it has something to do with my bond with the Eagles." She actually smiled faintly.  
  
"Well, that certainly simplifies our care of you. Go now, and complete your mission." I nodded, took a step back and bowed to the two of them once more. Elrohir took my arm. "Come, Snowsteel, we will show you where to go. It is not so complicated once you've walked around the place a bit."  
  
It wasn't complicated at all--we simply started climbing the stairs that wound round and round the trunk of the largest mallorn at the top of the hill. Lots of stairs, going straight up, after a fourteen mile hike and eighty mile ride. Only my stubborn determination to deliver the King's message and my overwhelming worry about the Prince kept me going. Elladan and Elrohir looked somewhat weary, but nowhere near as bad off as I was. And now that I thought upon it, they had seemed relatively untouched by the dust of the road as we stood before their glittering grandparents. Their hair had even fallen about their shoulders pretty much untangled after a windy day spent riding hard. There were times, I thought as I panted my way up the stairs, that I could almost dislike Elves. I resigned myself to at least a week of feeling clumsy, grubby and inferior.   
  
We finally reached a level where there were several platforms. I paused for a moment and leaned against the huge trunk to catch my breath. The twins stopped and looked over their shoulders at me.  
  
"I need a moment, if you don't mind," I told them, closing my eyes. Elrohir came over and took me by the arm.  
  
"Oh no you don't! Do not close your eyes just yet. But a little further now, and after that, I will tuck you into bed myself if it becomes necessary." The prospect of that had the bracing effect upon me that he had hoped it would--I shook his arm off, and continued on.  
  
The West Flet was a treehouse when all was said and done, but a large and very nice one indeed, with high arched windows that were open to the air. A silken curtain served as a door, and we pushed past it to enter a pleasant room lit brightly by more of the silver lanterns. In the middle of the room was a bed which seemed almost to have been grown out of a silvery wood, clothed and canopied in white, and in the middle of the bed lay the Prince of Dol Amroth. He lay clean and combed upon on a pile of soft white pillows and was covered with bedcovers stuffed with down and others of the finest white wool.  
  
The bedcovers were pulled back from his leg, which was propped upon pillows, and was being poulticed or bandaged by a tall, black-haired elven man and a younger, black-haired elven woman. They were conferring quietly as we entered, and the woman looked up.  
  
She was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, surpassing even her grandmother downstairs. I stared for a moment, but fortunately my rudeness went unnoticed, for her grey eyes sparkled joyfully as she looked upon Elladan and Elrohir.  
  
"Brothers!" she cried, and stood, and they stepped quickly into the room and into her embrace. The elf-lord stood after a moment, and went to join them, and he was tall and stern and fair to look upon. He too embraced his wayward sons, and as he did so, I was struck by two thoughts--that I was in the presence of the third legend I'd met this evening, and, that like Imrahil and his children, it was very obvious to any who looked upon them that these people were a family, for there was a very strong resemblance between them all.  
  
The Lord Elrond noticed me standing there, all hung about with saddlebags and sacks, and raised an eyebrow, releasing the twins.  
  
"I see the rest of the escort from Gondor has arrived," he commented in a soft, deep voice. I bowed deeply.  
  
"Hethlin, daughter of Hallaran, of the House of the Eagle, my lord," I said carefully once more. "I bear a message from King Elessar for your daughter, the Lady Arwen." Somewhat awkwardly, I set my various encumbrances upon the floor, till I found the saddlebag that held the pouch, removed it, and held it out to the lady with a respectful bow. Arwen smiled gently as her fingertips brushed mine and took the pouch. Eyes downcast as she undid the clasp, she asked, "And how was Estel when last you saw him?"  
  
"He was well, my lady, and very busy with his kingly duties. And looking forward eagerly to your arrival in Minas Tirith." There, that was a diplomatic answer. The message had been delivered, and I felt a weight lift from me, though I was still burdened by my worry over Imrahil. The lady pulled a sheaf of paper from within the pouch, covered with closely spaced writing, and smiled. "Oh, good. A long letter!" She then gave me a rather pointed look.  
  
"How was he really?" There was a bit of a mischievous gleam in her limpid, grey eyes, and I decided to take a chance.  
  
"Ready to hang his secretary from the walls, because the man keeps giving him schedules for every moment of his day, with carefully written instructions on how to get to places he already knows." She laughed, and it was like a pealing of bells, or a symphony of birds, or any other comparison that meant melodic beauty. She was so incredibly lovely that I actually minded her less than I might have a woman who was a lesser beauty. I suffered by comparison to her, but so did every other woman in the world, so it wasn't so bad.  
  
"Now that sounds like my Estel!" she exclaimed, laughing again, and for just a moment she wasn't an almost three-thousand-year-old paragon of wisdom and beauty, but simply a young woman in love. "Father, I should like to go and read this, if you do not mind."  
  
"Go on, Arwen, I was all but finished here in any event." She gave me a grateful smile, and I blinked, glad I was not a man or I would have been lost indeed.  
  
"Thank you for bringing this to me," she said, and I nodded.  
  
"You are most welcome, my lady."  
  
"I will see that a room is prepared for you."  
  
"That would be most appreciated." She left the room in a sweep of grey silk skirts, and the twins looked at each other mournfully.  
  
"We're gone for months--" Elladan began.  
  
"--riding with fire and sword to the very end of the world--" Elrohir continued.  
  
"--and she all but ignores us in favor of a few sheets of paper from Estel," Elladan concluded. They looked at each other sadly.  
  
"Love is truly a terrible thing," declared Elrohir. The Lord Elrond shook his head in tolerant forbearance.  
  
"Bide but a few moments more, my sons, and we will go below to the celebration, and you may regale me and your grandparents with tales of your errantry. Or at least as much as you feel is safe to tell. I am sure I will hear the full tale eventually-- from other sources." He looked at me.  
  
"You are Hallaran's daughter?"  
  
"Aye, my lord."   
"You have inherited his gifts, it seems. How fares he?" I looked at the floor for a moment--that grey gaze was very hard to take for long. In that, he reminded me of Aragorn.  
  
"Dead these last four years, my lord, along with my mother, brother and sister. An orc raid from Mordor."  
  
"I am sorry." And he did indeed sound so. "Has Aragorn taken you into his household then?"  
  
"Not exactly, my lord. He felt that I might acquire a better education in Dol Amroth, as his own household is somewhat unsettled as yet. So I am sworn as esquire to the Prince." I peered around him at the still figure in the bed. "Is he going to recover, my lord?" Lord Elrond turned, moved back over to the Prince, and resumed laying cloths upon his leg.  
  
"Nothing is certain, but it is my belief that he will recover completely in time. You may approach him if you wish. He will not wake--I have kept him in a deep sleep since his arrival. Much of what I had to do initially would have been painful for him, and I deemed it best to spare him that in his weakened condition."  
  
"Will he lose his leg? Elladan was afraid that he might." From the looks of things, Lord Elrond had made cuts up and down the length of the prince's leg--I saw one of the incisions briefly as he bandaged it. Whatever he'd done seemed to have worked--the leg was now only slightly swollen rather than almost twice its size as it had been before. There was still much hideous bruising upon it, particularly about the original wound, but it looked greatly improved otherwise. The Lord of Imladris gave his son a look of approval.  
  
"Elladan did a very good job with the materials he had at hand. You would make a healer, my son, were I able to keep you home long enough to instruct you." Elladan gave his father a slightly embarrassed smile.  
  
"Thank you, Father."  
  
"Still and all, it is just as well you waited no longer to send him to me. I was hard-pressed to neutralize the poison in time." I moved slowly over to the opposite side of the bed from Lord Elrond, who, having finished dressing the leg, was tucking the blankets back about it. Prince Imrahil's hand lay outside the cover, and I took it gently. It was neither hot nor chill. His face and lips were almost as pale as the coverlets, but he no longer had the sunken look about his eyes that had frightened me so badly before I summoned Gwaenaur. Still, I was not entirely reassured about his recovery.  
  
"What sort of poison was it, Father?" asked Elrohir. "Certainly not the usual run of orc stuff--we tried what we had for spider venom, and it didn't work."  
  
"Some Southron serpent venom was the base of it," Lord Elrond replied. "But I suspect there was more to it than that. If, as you say, the Uruk was one of Saruman's, it may have been magically blended in some way. I should have liked to have had the other arrows to study, but I understand that you were all a little busy at the time." That statement sounded just like something I would have imagined Prince Amrothos saying, and I smiled a little despite myself. Lord Elrond looked over at me as if he'd divined my earlier doubts.  
  
"It is truly my belief that he will recover, Lady Hethlin. We will be letting him wake up tomorrow morning. Would you care to be present? It might calm him to have someone with him he recognizes."  
  
"I should like that very much, my lord." To my horror, a large yawn erupted from me. I set the Prince's hand down to cover my mouth.  
  
"She's very weary, Father," said Elrohir. "She carried his lordship before her in the saddle all day the day before yesterday, summoned the Eagle unanchored yesterday and rode a good distance, then rode a much longer way today. Let us find out where our laggard sister has bestowed you, Snowsteel." He took me by the elbow, and was turning to lead me out of the room when his father stopped him with a raised hand.  
  
"Did I hear you aright? She is untrained? And did the summoning unanchored? I should examine her before she sleeps." He gave me a concerned look. Elrohir gave me an uneasy smile, then said, "I'm sure she's well enough, Father. I've been watching her for headaches." Lord Elrond moved around the bed to stand in front of me. Elrohir was looking even more apprehensive, and when I threw a glance in Elladan's direction, he looked worried as well, instead of enjoying his twin's discomfiture. I wondered what was going on.  
  
"Have you had any headaches since calling the Eagle, my lady?" Lord Elrond inquired. I shook my head.  
  
"No, my lord. I had a very bad head ache and a chest ache as well when I first did it, but Elrohir healed me very nicely, and I haven't had any trouble since."   
  
"I see. You are in all likelihood in perfect health, but it sounds as if you pushed yourself to the very brink, and I should like to insure that you are well. Aragorn would not thank me if I returned both of his envoys to him injured." With some trepidation, I asked what was involved in the examination. Lord Elrond smiled reassuringly.  
  
"I will simply touch you thusly," and he laid a gentle hand upon my forehead, "and I would ask that you look into my eyes."   
  
I did as I had been asked, and raised my eyes to his. Mine widened without my willing them to do so, and I found myself drowning in a sea of grey. I sucked in a quick breath. The sensation was not as invasive as when the Witch-King had read all my secrets; nonetheless, I felt something within me struggle against the Elf-lord's intrusion. But the lord of Imladris was a master in the art of healing bodies and minds, and he deftly quieted the part of me trying to push him out. A dull ache started behind my eyes, then vanished as quickly as it had come. The examination took no more than a few moments, then I was reeling slightly from a momentary dizziness as he withdrew. I sagged rather heavily against Elrohir, wishing with all my heart for a bed, and wondering if they'd mind if I just curled up on the floor right there. Then I saw Lord Elrond's face and was jerked back to full wakefulness.  
  
He had stepped back from me and dropped his hand, and as he'd done so, his expression had altered from one of serene concentration to pure fury. No more the healer, this was the warrior who had helped besiege Barad-dur itself. Behind me, I heard Elladan take a step backward. Elrohir's hand tightened painfully on my arm. Silky-dangerous, I had called Elrohir's angriest voice. Smoothly petulant was what it was when compared to his father's.  
  
"Elrohir Peredhil, were you intending to mention to me at any point that you'd gone and soul-bonded yourself to a MORTAL?" Dunedan that I was, I quailed before Elrond of Imladris' rage, and wanted very badly to be someplace else. Any place other than Lorien. 


	29. The Elf Lords

Author's Note--I had a bit of a puzzle here, about the exact distance of Cerin Amroth from Caras Galadon. In Karen Wynn Fonstad's Atlas of Middle-Earth, she shows it being almost ten miles away. But when Tolkien describes the Fellowship's walk from it to the city, they start as night is falling, and arrive when it is barely past dark. So I'm thinking it's two or three miles. If anyone knows information to the contrary, feel free to tell me.  
  
A big thanks again to all the reviewers and readers who have hung in with me this far--I hit the big 30 next, which is about twice as many chapters as I thought this story was going to be! My husband keeps asking how many chapters are left, and I keep telling him "two or three". Now he rolls his eyes when I say it. Heck, I'm starting to roll my eyes.  
  
  
  
"Father, it is not a marriage-bond!" Elrohir protested. His hand on my arm had prevented my moving back towards the door as Elladan had done--now, I rounded on him.  
  
"Marriage-bond! Soul-bond! Is there something you'd like to tell me while you're about it, Elrohir?"  
  
"I did tell you, Snowsteel," he said testily, while keeping a wary eye upon his father. "Do you not remember when I told you our souls had touched, and that was why I could converse with you?" I wrenched free of his grasp.  
  
"'Touched' is what you said had happened. You never mentioned 'bound together for all of time'!"  
  
"It could hardly be for all time, Snowsteel-you're not immortal. The bond will last until your death."  
  
"Or until it is severed," said the Lord of Imladris ominously. He closed his eyes for a moment, and knitted his fingers together, then without looking, said, "Stay where you are, Elladan. I am sure you will have interesting insights to contribute about this......situation." Elladan halted his stealthy progress towards the door, and gave his father what was supposed to be a beguiling smile. The actual result was more queasy than beguiling.  
  
"Really, Father--I am not the bonded one here. You do not need to talk to me."  
  
"I think perhaps I do. The occasions upon which one of you has acted singly are extremely rare. But this is a sickroom, and not the place for such a conversation. All of you, follow me." He left the room, and we followed after, like contrite cygnets trailing a very ruffled black swan, back to the main platform, and across a walkway to another platform, then into another flet, this one furnished more like a parlor, with low couches, carved chairs and tables, and still more of the silver lamps. Seeing that I had lugged my baggage with me, Lord Elrond indicated that I should set it by the door, and then gestured to the couch he preferred that I sit upon, which was directly across from the throne-like chair he took for himself. Elladan and Elrohir were directed to sit in chairs on either side of the room.  
  
A young elven man, clad in the elegant but simpler garments I had begun to associate with servants here, entered the room. Lord Elrond beckoned him forward, gave him some order the rest of us did not hear, and the servant bowed and left. He then turned his attention fully upon me.  
  
"First of all, young woman--has my son entered into any contract of marriage with you as humans understand such things? Has he made you any such promises?" The couch was temptingly soft, and under other circumstances, I'd have already been lying down upon it, snoring. I wondered suddenly if his seating me there was an attempt to get me to lower my guard. If so, it was a wasted effort--I could not imagine telling Elrond of Imladris anything but the truth.  
  
"No, my lord, he has not promised me marriage, or entered into any such contract with me."  
  
"Then how is it the two of you have become soul-bonded?"  
  
"It happened by accident, my lord, when he saved my life. My spirit was in the Grey Lands. At least that is what I thought of the place as. You might have another name for it." His face darkened somewhat and he steepled his fingers together once more, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair.  
  
"And how was it that your spirit came to be in these Grey Lands?"  
  
"The Witch-King sent me there." The Lord Elrond was not a person who surprised easily, I suspected, nor did he seem the sort to appreciate surprises. One of his delicate, black brows gave a quick jerk, the only indication of any startlement. He gestured imperiously.  
  
"Tell me this tale. Begin at the beginning." So it was that for only the second time, I told the tale of my encounter with the Witch-King of Angmar, this time to a far more hostile audience. It was slightly easier to tell it this time, but not by much, and I realized that I had been trying very hard to forget all about it. Lord Elrond stopped me in a couple of places, and asked questions about some small details. When I mentioned the black eagle amulet, I saw his eyebrow jerk again.  
  
I was shaking by the time I got near to the end of the story, where I repudiated the Witch-King, the amulet broke, and he cast my spirit away. It was then that a presence moved into the room and seated itself beside me. The Lady Arwen took my cold hand in her warm one, and smiled at me. The elven man I'd seen earlier also came in, leaving a tray with a pitcher, goblet, a clear glass cup of what looked to be water, and another bottle of dark glass on Lord Elrond's side table. He promptly poured some liquid from the dark bottle into the glass and drank it swiftly with a grimace, then followed it with a goblet of what looked to be wine from the pitcher. The twins gazed longingly at the wine, until their father gave them a quelling look. I could have really used some wine as well, but knew better than to ask. "Continue," he commanded me.  
  
So I described briefly the Grey Lands, and how incredibly glad I'd been to hear Elrohir's voice in that timeless, hideous place.  
  
"And then he clasped my hand, and told me we had to run, and we ran till we reached Elladan, and then we all walked back. They were very kind to me, and told me all that I had missed while I lay ill." Lord Elrond's eyes narrowed of a sudden, and seemed to bore into mine.  
  
"That is the truth, but not all of it, I think. What is it you are hiding from me?" I shrank back against the couch a bit, but before I could answer, Elrohir rose gracefully to his feet, his head tilted at its most arrogant angle.  
  
"She merely omits the fact that I overtaxed myself, Father. I had given too much of my strength to her, and before we could reach Elladan, I began to fail. It was then that she grasped my spirit, and did what few mortals can do, and guided me back to my brother." Arwen gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "Thus the soul-bond, for I had given of my strength to her, and then she returned the gift. Now that you know the truth of it, for Valar's sake, let her rest!"  
  
"Indeed, Father, it ill becomes you to question a weary guest so," agreed Arwen. "This bond has been in place for some time now. It will harm nothing to wait till tomorrow to discuss this further." She took me by the elbow, and helped me to rise. Her father sighed, and nodded.  
  
"Very well, Arwen, show the lady to her room if you will, and then retire yourself. The two of you, remain here with me." Arwen helped me collect my things, and we started to the door, but she paused before we left.  
  
"I will return when I have seen Hethlin comfortably settled, Father."  
  
"That is not necessary, Daughter. This does not concern you." Her grey eyes glinted steel of a sudden.  
  
"Quite the contrary, Father. This is all about me." Their glances crossed for a moment, then he dropped his eyes to his goblet.  
  
"Return if you wish then, Arwen. Though I think you would be better served to rest well before the journey." His index finger traced round and round the rim, just as Elrohir's had the night he told my story at the Ranger's campfire, and rather to my surprise, I found myself speaking.  
  
"I know what it is you fear," I said softly. He looked up at me for a moment, his eyes dark and weary.  
  
"Do you?"  
  
"Aye. And I can tell you, it's not going to happen." His dropped his brooding gaze back to his cup.  
  
"So you say now." Arwen gave me a gentle nudge, and we left.  
  
  
"Are we going far?" I asked once we'd left. I was tired and dirty and to my embarrassment, close to tears after having to relive one of the worst experiences of my life.  
  
"Not far at all," Arwen assured me, and indeed, we crossed a bridge between branches, and walked up the new limb a way and we were there. Another flet, not unlike the one the Prince was housed in. It held a similar bed, though this one's hangings were pale grey, and on the floor was a silver tub filled with steaming water. I set my things down, and Arwen showed me a screen that could be made to enfold the tub and give me some privacy.   
  
"For I am told that Men are more particular about such things," she commented.  
  
"It depends upon the situation," I replied. "But certainly, I am particular, so I thank you for the screen." Her consideration was comforting. Still a bit shaky, I unbuckled my sword belt and laid it beside the bed, then bent over and began to struggle out of my hauberk. Suddenly, a pair of slender, strong hands was assisting me, carefully guiding the links so that they did not snag my hair. When I had straightened up, and draped it over a chair, I gave Arwen a tired smile and a wag of the finger.  
  
"Thank you, my lady, but it is not appropriate for you to be helping me thusly. You will be my Queen soon."  
  
"Soon, but I am not so exalted yet. Besides, according to Estel, you are his kinswoman." Unlacing my gambeson, I put it with the hauberk with a sigh of relief.  
  
"The connection is a rather distant one, lady. Third cousins at best, I think."  
  
"Estel has not so many kinsman that he can afford to ignore any of them, no matter how distant." I sat down on the bed and pulled my boots off.  
  
"Oh, he hasn't ignored me. Trust me on that." Another elven servant, this time a woman, appeared suddenly, gave Arwen a armload of cloth, bowed and left. She smiled, and draped the cloth which turned out to be a night shift and a couple of the wonderful towels, over the screen. She then settled herself into another chair that held none of my dirty clothes. I gave her an inquiring look, and she smiled kindly.  
  
"I think I had better stay and talk to you while you bathe, if you do not mind. Otherwise, I fear you will fall asleep in the bath and have to be put to bed by someone, and I suspect you would not like that." I shivered at the thought of one of the oh-so-perfect elves seeing my naked, scarred form. Elrohir had, of course, but he was different. These elves were strangers, and not particularly friendly ones, from what I could see.  
  
"Indeed I would not. Thank you, lady." She nodded, and I stepped behind the screen, undressed, and sank gratefully into hot water. She had been right, of course--all that warmth relaxed me almost immediately. The shakes began to subside, and my eyes closed momentarily, before I forced myself to wake up once more.  
  
"Oh, this is marvelous! I've been bathing out of basins and rivers for a couple of weeks now. Cold river water is just not quite the same thing." Her chuckle was as musical as her laugh. I began washing off vigorously, so that I could finish things myself and not have someone have to scoop me out of the tub.  
  
"Estel wrote me about you," came Arwen's voice from beyond the screen after a time. "I wish to thank you for what you are doing for me."  
  
"You are welcome, my lady. I am glad that I could be of service to you in such a way." There was a moment's silence while I stood up and began to towel off, then I asked, "What exactly did he say about me?" Another chuckle.  
  
"I wondered when you would ask that. He quite likes you actually. He says you are one of the few people who appreciate his lineage for what it is." I groaned.  
  
"He is never going to let that rest!"  
  
"Is there a tale there?"  
  
"Indeed, my lady, and when I am not so weary, and we both have the time, I will tell you of how I met the King."  
  
"I should enjoy that very much, I think. But I am saddened by one thing, Lady Hethlin."  
  
"And what is that, my lady?"  
  
"Estel obviously sent you with the message so that we would have an opportunity to get to know one another better on the journey to Minas Tirith. Yet once we get there, you will have to leave, and it will all be for naught--the one person I know will not be there. Is it truly necessary that you leave?"  
  
Goodness, but she was a charmer. It was extremely flattering to think that the exquisite Lady Arwen might enjoy my company. I wondered if she were merely being polite. I pulled the nightshift over my head and found that it actually fit, coming all the way down to my ankles and wrists. It was made of some silky grey material, opague enough for modesty, but not so heavy as to be confining or hot. I smoothed it over my hip, enjoying the feel of it, then stepped outside the screen.  
  
"I won't be leaving immediately, my lady. I am sworn to my lord, and I believe he intends to remain in Minas Tirith for a time. Though I doubt I will have much time to linger about court--I hear that the training to be a Swan Knight is very taxing."  
  
"One would think it would be," Arwen agreed. "Is it necessary that you become a Swan Knight to be my bodyguard?"  
  
"Not really. I think that it is more that the people the Prince has in his household training his knights are the ones who have the skills I need to learn. I rather doubt he actually intends to let me be knighted. The whole point of me being your bodyguard was that an enemy would not expect your lady-in-waiting to be able to fight. If it gets about that I was knighted, that advantage would be lost." I grimaced a bit as I said that last, for it saddened me that I could find myself completing the training only to be refused the accolade. Arwen gave me a sympathetic smile. Another of those huge yawns came from me then, and the lady stood up.  
  
"I think that it is time I let you get some rest." I nodded, and turned the bed covers back.  
  
"And I am keeping you from rescuing your brothers, lady. I thank you for your care--but by all means, go to them before it is too late!" I got into bed and pulled the covers up while she moved to the lamp, opened a door on its side, and blew it out.  
  
"My father is not such a terrible person as all that. He is simply very grieved right now and he was badly frightened this evening, in a way that has not happened in some time. You were unfortunately caught in the middle of it. I hope that you will forgive him--he is actually very pleasant when you get to know him."  
  
"Please do not take this the wrong way, lady, but I think avoiding him is going to be my strategy for the next little while." There was a dim glow of light from other lanterns outside the flet within the room, and in it I could see Arwen's slender figure as she moved to the door, or more properly door curtain.   
  
"You must of course do as you see best, Lady Hethlin, but I think you would be the poorer for such a strategy. I will see that you awaken in the morning in time to be with the Prince. Good night."  
  
"Good night, my lady." The words had scarce left my lips when my head dropped onto the soft, forest-scented pillow and I slept as one dead.  
  
  
By the sun filtering through the mallorn leaves, it was close to midday before I awoke. I found that all my clothes and boots had been removed and that a set of clothes had been laid upon the chair--underthings and stockings of what looked like white silk, a pair of charcoal grey leggings, light leather boots of the same color, and a high-necked tunic of a lighter grey in some sort of nubby, sheeny material. I put the garments and boots on, and found that they fitted me well. I found myself wishing for the fancy silver mirror in the room Aragorn had given me at Minas Tirith, for I had the feeling that this sort of clothing might actually look good on me. I'd just found my hairbrush in my saddlebags, and was doing what I could to master my unruly mane, when the elf woman from the night before brought in a laden tray and set it upon a small table. I thanked her in the Elvish that I knew, and she gave me an expressionless look, bowed, and left.  
  
The tray contained a bowl of strawberries and cream, which reminded me of Elladan's flippant comments upon the road. To my amazement there were slices of melon, too early by a month at least in the outside world, pieces of toast, and a large pile of lacy things that turned out to be the elven version of pancakes, except that they were much, much better. They melted on the tongue in a delightful explosion of honey, and I started with them first, practically inhaling the whole stack. The rest of the meal followed in short order, and I was contentedly dabbing my lips with a napkin, and quaffing the light cider that had accompanied the meal, when the Lady Arwen rapped on the door frame and stuck her head into the room.  
  
"Good morning, Lady Hethlin. Have you broken your fast sufficiently? Did they bring you enough food?" She was wearing a lavender dress this morning, and the color brought out a purple tinge in her grey eyes.  
  
"The breakfast was wonderful, my lady, and there was certainly enough of it." Something occurred to me, and I gave her a questioning look. "Did Elrohir tell you I ate a lot?" She smiled.  
  
"He said I should feed you twice as much as an elf-maiden, for you were still a growing girl." I looked at my polished plates, and blushed a bit.  
  
"I'm going to kill him," I muttered, "always supposing your father hasn't done it already. Is he all right? Where is he this morning?" Arwen sighed, and her expression darkened.  
  
"He is well enough, though the conversation grew.....contentious last night. He and Elladan are on the river with Grandmother today. She felt a sudden need to commune with her grandsons. Are you ready to go see the Prince?" I rose to my feet.  
  
"Aye, my lady." Starting to the door, I suddenly remembered that seeing the Prince also meant that I would be seeing the Lord Elrond, and I slowed my steps. Perceiving my thought, Arwen gave me an encouraging look.  
  
"You may consider the Prince's sickroom neutral ground, Lady Hethlin. There will be no untoward scenes while my father is functioning as a healer."  
  
"All right then--I'll just avoid him the rest of the time." We started along the walkway towards the West Flet, and Arwen shook her head sadly.  
  
"You cannot evade him indefinitely--you will be traveling back with us to Minas Tirith, will you not?"  
  
"Not if the Prince stays behind, my lady. My place is with him."  
  
"It would still be best if the two of you would talk." Anger suddenly overcame me. I stopped walking, and she turned back to look at me questioningly.  
  
"I did all the talking I am going to do last night," I growled, "Left weary and thirsty while he quaffed wine and questioned me like I was some sort of grubby thief that had dared to lay hands upon one of his treasured possessions. I have said all that I have to say upon the matter." She gave me a long, considering look, then nodded a sad acknowledgment.  
  
"For your lord's sake though, do try to at least appear civil. The Prince should not be troubled in any way at this point in his healing." I gave her a grim look.  
  
"You need not fear, my lady. I may have grown up on a farm, but my father and mother taught me well. I am quite capable of courtesy. And I would not harm the Prince for anything." Lady Arwen looked taken aback for a moment. Her hand made a hesitant gesture.  
  
"I am sorry, Lady Hethlin. I did not mean to offend you, or imply that your manners were lacking." Her apology was genuine, and gracefully made. "Is he dear to you then?"  
  
"It is more that he is dear to someone who is dear to me," I explained, somewhat mollified. "And that he has this family.......he's an extraordinary person. You weren't there of course, but when he thought he was dying.......he was more worried about how I felt than what was happening to him. I'm very, very glad that your father was able to save him. I can be as civil as you like because of that." She smiled wryly.  
  
"It would appear that Prince Imrahil is an able diplomat even when unconscious." I snorted a little laugh.  
  
"Aye, I suppose he is."  
  
"I find myself becoming more and more eager to meet this paragon. Let us go to him." And we started on our way once more to the West Flet.  
  
  
Save for the sunlight streaming in the windows, the scene in the West Flet was much the same as it had been the night before. The Lord Elrond was just finishing dressing the Prince's leg when we entered. He was wearing a wine-red robe, instead of the pale colors favored by the Lorien elves, and an enigmatic expression.  
  
"Arwen. Lady Hethlin. You are just in time." His voice was quiet, with no rancor, but no particular warmth either. I moved to the other side of the bed from the Lord of Imladris, and he nodded, then began pulling the covers back down over the Prince's leg.  
  
"Lady Hethlin. I do not know how familiar you are with the healing arts, but you should not be concerned if he wakes for but a brief time, then goes back to sleep. This is natural. He will be unable to do much but sleep for the next couple of days--his body was sorely taxed by the poison, and he lost a fair amount of blood." I took the Prince's hand.  
  
"I understand, my lord." Arwen moved to stand beside her father. There was no fanfare, no elaborate preparation. Lord Elrond simply laid his hand upon the Prince's brow.  
  
"Imrahil, awake."  
  
For several long moments, nothing happened. I expected Elrond to say or do something else, but he merely waited, his grey eyes intent upon the Prince's face. Then the Prince stirred beneath his hand, and sighed. His eyes fluttered open. They were unfocused, and a bit blank. He turned his head towards Lord Elrond, and saw Arwen. The corners of his mouth curled up slowly in a sweet and joyous smile.  
  
"Nimrien?" he whispered almost inaudibly. She gave me a puzzled look, and I shrugged my shoulders slightly.  
  
"I think he may be confusing you with his wife," I said softly. "She died many years ago." I squeezed his hand, and he turned his head slowly and looked at me.  
  
"My lord, how fare you?" Imrahil's gaze was uncomprehending for a few moments, then I saw awareness start to filter slowly back in. He blinked a couple of times, then murmured a bit croakily, "Hethlin? Then I'm not dead yet?"  
  
"No, my lord, not yet. You're in Lorien. You've been asleep these last two days." Lord Elrond poured him a cup of water from a pitcher on the bedside table, lifted his head, and put it to his lips. He drank slowly but with obvious appreciation. He looked brighter and more alert when he had finished and sank back against the pillows once more. I smiled down at him in what I hoped was a reassuring manner.  
  
"This is Lord Elrond of Imladris, and his daughter, the Lady Arwen." His eyes widened slightly, and after a moment, his head inclined in a polite nod to Elrond. "My lord." He then rested his gaze upon Arwen for a time, and the inclination of his head was even deeper and more respectful. "My Queen." Arwen smiled her dazzling smile, and clasped his other hand gently.  
  
"Estel wrote to warn me that you were a charmer, my lord prince."  
  
"Unfair of him to forewarn you, my lady," protested Imrahil, speaking more slowly than was his usual wont. "Though I must say it has been worth the pains this trip has cost me to be one of the first to lay eyes upon my new Queen." Lord Elrond laid a long hand upon his forehead, and took his hand from Arwen's so that he could check his pulse.  
  
"How are you feeling? Have you any pain or discomfort?" His voice was cool and clinical.  
  
"No, my lord, I am quite at ease, and most relieved to be so. Have I you to thank my care?"  
  
"Yes. You have been a most cooperative patient thus far. If you continue thusly, you should be completely recovered in a couple of months." Imrahil glanced in the direction of his leg, and Lord Elrond, releasing his hand and head, actually smiled.  
  
"Your leg is doing well. The swelling is much abated. You may be using a stick for a time and you may lose some skin before it heals, but it will heal." The Prince let out a relieved breath.  
  
"Then for my leg and my life, I thank you, Lord Elrond."  
  
"There is no need for thanks, Prince Imrahil. I am a healer--it is my duty to succor the sick and injured."  
  
"That is as may be, my lord, but you have them anyway." He turned his attention to me.  
"Hethlin, you look well. The elven fashion suits you." I blushed a little.  
  
"Thank you, my lord."  
  
"Have you seen much of the Golden Wood yet?"  
  
"No, sir." I didn't want to go into the details of how he'd arrived here just yet--he was already beginning to look weary. He squeezed my hand feebly and released it, making a small shooing motion with his own.  
  
"Then get you gone, out into the sunlight. Go explore and enjoy yourself. That's an order. You can come back later and tell me of the wonders you've seen. I would enjoy that." I stood and bowed to him.  
  
"As you wish, my lord. Lord Elrond. Lady Arwen." I bowed to each of them as well, Arwen acknowledging me with a smile and a nod. Lord Elrond was busy preparing some sort of medicine for the Prince, and I took advantage of the opportunity to make my escape before he could corner me for further interrogation. As I tucked my figurative tail and fled, the last thing I heard was a plaintive comment from the Prince.  
  
"If that tastes half so bad as it smells, I think I would rather be asleep again before you give it to me......"  
  
  
I returned to my room to collect my bow, quiver and sword, determined to explore the city and the forest and enjoy myself. I spent the early part of the afternoon walking through the city, observing the Galadrim as they went about their day-to-day activities. For the most part, they took little notice of me--I could not speak their language, so questions about the things that intrigued me were not possible. I would get a quiet smile from time to time, but many more of them openly ignored me. It was as if I were walking in a dream, or was a spirit wandering among the living and futilely trying to get their attention. That last mental image reminded me rather uncomfortably of the Witch-King, and by the middle of the afternoon I grew tired of feeling wraith-like, and decided to explore the forest instead while the light lasted. So I made my way down out of the trees, and onto the long path, and eventually through the gate and over the white bridge. In the daylight I could see before me a road paved with stone that ran away around the edge of the city to my right, going north. I was curious about what it led to, so I started following it.  
  
The city was greater in circumference than I had thought in the night, and it took some time to reach the northern side. There the paved road abruptly stopped, though there was a trail that led from the end of the road into the trees. Continuing on the unpaved trail, I relished the feel of the soft elven boots on the loamy forest floor. It seemed forever since I had walked unarmored and silent in a forest. After a time, I spied a shaft of sunlight off to my right, a break in the tree cover, and it looked so pretty that I decided to leave the trail and explore in truth, as a Ranger should. I strung my bow and carried it in hand, not that I particularly expected any trouble, it was simply how I'd been accustomed to traveling in Ithilien.  
  
I had wandered through the mallorn glades for about an hour when a patrol of the Galadrim came upon me, appearing phantom-like as they had before. This time, I was not so weary as I'd been the night before, and sensing someone's eyes upon me, had nocked and drawn. This did not please the patrol, and I soon found myself looking down the points of six different arrows aimed directly at my heart. Four more elves hung back behind the rest. One of them uttered a sharp command in their tongue--I didn't understand it, but the meaning was clear in context. I lowered my bow carefully, and dropped the arrow to the ground. One of them lowered his bow as well, slung it on his back, and was stepping forward, hand out, presumably to seize me, when a quiet command was uttered from among the elves that had kept back.   
  
Another elf, taller, cloaked, hooded and clad in the same woodland grey as the patrol, gave what sounded like a long series of orders or instructions in the same calm and quiet voice. The six elves who had apprehended me slipped back off into the woods. One of the other four with the tall elf made a protest of some sort, and was overruled. Another handed the tall elf a bag he was carrying slung across his chest, then the four all bowed and departed towards Caras Galadon. The tall elf put his hood back, and molten silver fell about his shoulders, caught close to his head in an intricate braiding pattern. I bowed deeply.  
  
"Lord Celeborn. I apologize for drawing on your patrol."  
  
"No apology is necessary, Lady Hethlin," the Lord of Lorien replied in flawless Westron. "We are all of us still somewhat unsettled by recent events. Though I had not thought to see you in the wood today. I had assumed that you would be spending your time in the Prince's company." I bent and picked up my fallen arrow, and replaced it in my quiver.  
  
"I was with him when Lord Elrond awakened him a little before noon, my lord, but he did not want me to stay. He told me to go out and look around, then come back later and tell him what I'd seen."  
  
"And a good esquire does as she is bidden," he said with a gentle smile. "Well, what have you seen so far, and how do you like the wood?"  
  
"I spent some time in the city earlier, but it was lonely, for I could not speak to anyone, and most of them seemed to wish to ignore me." Lord Celeborn regarded me gravely.  
  
"The Galadrim keep more to themselves than others of the Elder Kindred," he said after a moment. "The Elves of Mirkwood, for instance, do much trade with both the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, and the Men of Dale. And Elrond opens his house to folk of all kinds. But the Galadrim guard the borders of Lothlorien, and are content to remain within them. Mortals are not of very much concern or interest to them. I am sorry if your welcome was less than you had hoped for." I shook my head in quick denial.  
  
"Oh, I have no complaints, my lord. The Lady Arwen has been kindness itself, and my comfort has certainly been seen to." I lifted my head, and turned in a circle, admiring my surroundings. "And the forest is marvelous. It's been months since I was able to walk in a wood, and this one is so beautiful." There was a faintly pleased expression upon his face when I looked at him again.  
  
"Were you just wandering at random, or was there something you wished to see?"  
  
"I started out at first on the path that led north from the city--I wished to see what lay at the end of it-is there another city? But later I decided to simply explore the wood."  
  
"No. Caras Galadon is the only city in Lorien. But there is something there worth seeing, particularly given who your lord is. It is not so far--we can be there within half an hour's time, if you would care to go there--and we will return to the city at dusk, or a little after dark." I blinked at the exalted escort I was being offered, and nodded.  
  
"I should like that very much, my lord." He smiled one of his quiet smiles, and started off into the wood. He was a long-legged elf, and I had to walk quickly to keep up with him. He made absolutely no sound as he moved through his forest home, and I endeavored to remember my Ranger training and move quietly as well, but I felt like a Mumak charging through the underbrush compared to him. We would stop from time to time so that he might point out some plant or animal of interest. I remember how pleased he was to find a rare fern at the foot of one of the mallorn trees, his slender hands folding about it gently as he showed me the delicate fronds and explained its way of growing. He asked me questions about Ithilien, and I endeavored as best I could to describe the plants and trees that grew there.  
  
"It sounds a lovely wood as well, not too tainted by the Shadow, for all that it lies so close to Mordor," he said at length. "When we go to Minas Tirith, perhaps I shall have the opportunity to explore it."  
  
"If the Prince and I return with you, I should be glad to show it to you, my lord," I declared. "And if we do not, perhaps Lord Faramir would do the honors. For he was the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, and is now the Prince of Ithilien. He knows every tree and stone of it. And his Elvish is very much better than mine." Lord Celeborn laughed softly.  
  
"Yours is not so ill spoken. You make yourself understood well enough."  
  
"Lord Faramir used to give me lessons, but I've not had the time for it lately."   
  
"It is difficult sometimes, to find the time to learn all the things you would wish to know," Lord Celeborn agreed equably. I gave him a sidelong glance.   
  
"Surely you, my lord have had more than enough time to learn everything!" His lips twitched slightly.  
  
"There are any number of things I haven't done yet, and some of those I will never do, should I live to twice the years I have now. I have yet to be a potter, for instance."  
  
"I've done that one," I volunteered.  
  
"Have you now?"  
  
"Aye. When the King was crowned, I was working with the City Guard, keeping the crowd in order. Minas Tirith was very full of people from the Outlands, and in the excitement, this little girl got separated from her parents, and then she nearly got crushed by a wagon carrying wine up to the Citadel. I got her up on my horse, and started talking to her. She was a very little girl and it took a while to figure out that her parents were potters, but when I did, I took her to Potter's Street, and rode up and down until we found them. They were very grateful and invited me to dinner the next night. We had a nice supper, and when I said I was interested in how pots were made, they burned some extra candles and let me have a turn at the wheel. I provided them an evening's amusement, if nothing else." In the Elf-lord's ancient eyes was a glimmer of mirth.  
  
"Your hands are apt to a bow, but not the clay?"  
  
"It's harder than it looks, let me tell you."  
  
"Many things are, though that has always looked as though it might be entertaining. Like a child making mud pies."  
  
"That's what the cup I made looked like. A mud pie. The potter was going to fire it for me, but I wouldn't let him. He's making me a really pretty tankard--the handle is a hawk with its wings folded. I'm to pick it up when I return to the City." Lord Celeborn smiled a quiet acknowledgment, and we walked silently for a little while. Then we came out into an open space in the trees, and I sucked in my breath in wonder.  
  
"This is Cerin Amroth," said Lord Celeborn. "Amroth's high seat when he dwelt here. The beginning, if you like, of the tale that ends in your lord's demesne."  
  
A great mound lay before us, clad in grass as soft and green as velvet, and starred by flowers in the myriad colors of spring--gold, white, pink, violet, blue. The long shadows of late afternoon fell across it and two rings of trees surrounded it. The outer ones were slender and shapely, and had bark of blinding white. Their pale green leaves danced upon the breeze and were a contrast to the inner ring of mallorns, who were coming into their full dark green foliage. At the top of the mound was the largest mallorn I'd seen yet, save for the one at the crest of Caras Galadon. I thought I could see a flet high up in the branches.  
  
"Would you like to go up?" asked Lord Celeborn, and I nodded. As we stepped onto the mound, it seemed as if the very air itself changed, became fresher, newborn. The grass, the trees, the flowers--all seemed the most perfect ones that had ever existed. A gentle breeze lifted my hair and the Lord of Lorien's sheened silver strands. I climbed slowly, breathing in the air and staring about me raptly; Lord Celeborn was picking flowers, a pink one here, a blue one there, with a grace that made it almost a dance. He had a large handful by the time we reached the top of the mound, and the base of the large mallorn.  
  
There was a ladder there, and he gestured that I should proceed him, so I began to climb. Eventually, the ladder ended at a very large platform indeed, roofed and walled with the gently whispering green leaves and dusted with falling golden flowers. Lord Celeborn sank to the floor like a falling leaf, unslung the bag and his bow and quiver from his shoulder, and taking up some of the flowers, began weaving them together. I went to the edge of the flet and looked out through the rustling branches. Looking to the South, I could see clear down the Anduin a great way. There was a smudgy grey blur in the distance. I wondered if I were seeing the Emyn Muil, or all the way to the Ephel Duath. When I turned and looked eastward, I could see a great expanse of dark green forest.  
  
"Mirkwood," I murmured quietly.  
  
"Eryn Lasgalen," Lord Celeborn corrected me quietly.  
  
"My lord?"  
  
"Come. Sit." I did as I was told, and settled myself down close by him. A gesture of the hand not holding the flowers indicated that I should open the bag. I did, and pulled out a large silver flask and some leaf-wrapped objects.  
  
'If you hunger or thirst, by all means, partake," he told me. I undid the leaf wrappings of one of the objects, and found a fair cake within of a pale golden color. Taking a bite, I found it to be better than the finest bread I'd ever tasted. Eyes wide, I ate it with relish, then uncorked the bottle and found it contained some sort of liquor. The two of them were very invigorating, and I found myself wide awake, very alert, and feeling able to hike or swim down the entire length of the Anduin that lay beneath me. Enjoying the incredible view, and the beauty that was all about me, I ate and drank, and listened to Lord Celeborn's soft voice.  
  
The Lord of Lorien began to twine together the flowers he'd collected, and as he did so, spoke to me of what had been going on while Minas Tirith had been besieged. Evil forces from Dol Guldur had attacked Lorien three times. There had also been massive battles beneath the trees in Northern Mirkwood, where Thranduil son of Oropher had had the victory, and battle had been brought to Dale and the Lonely Mountain by the Easterlings. Both King Brand of Dale and the King of the Lonely Mountain, Dain Ironfoot, had fallen there, and their followers had been besieged in the Mountain itself, before they had been able to drive their attackers back after Sauron's defeat.  
  
He and Lady Galadriel had repelled Lorien's would-be invaders, and in their turn, had crossed the Anduin and thrown Dol Guldur down, cleansing the forest of its foul influence. I had always been primarily concerned with Gondor's survival; as he spoke, I finally understood the enormity of the doom we'd faced. Had the Ringbearer not succeeded, truly there would have been nowhere to hide.   
  
"So now it is renamed Eryn Lasgalen, the Forest of Green Leaves," Lord Celeborn concluded, "and perhaps I have finally been a warrior for the last time. I would wish it so." His eyes grew distant, dwelling perhaps on memories of battles in ages past, as his hands deftly wove the flowers into a comely garland. I looked upon him, careful not to meet that bottomless stare, and suddenly shivered a bit. Seeming to sense my discomfort, he came back to himself, and looked upon me kindly. The sun was beginning to set, and the light seemed to caress the planes of his face, neither old nor young.  
  
"What troubles you, Lady Hethlin?"  
  
"I do not wish to offend, my lord," I said softly, "but I should like to know. How old are you?" He did not seem affronted, but gave me a considering look.  
  
"I have walked the world since before Anor and Ithil rode the skies," he said matter-of-factly, "as has my lady wife. And the lands of my birth were whelmed beneath the waves before Numenor was ever raised. How many years that is exactly, I no longer count or care. Why?" I simply stared at him for a long moment, trying to comprehend the enormity of all he had seen and experienced, and failing utterly.  
  
Finally, I asked, "Why would you want to spend time with someone like me? I must be to you as a mayfly is to a man."  
  
"The answer to that, child, is a question. And the question is--what is it that you did not see in your exploration of Caras Galadon this afternoon?" I frowned, and thought upon this matter for some time, and in the end, declared myself perplexed. Lord Celeborn gave me a sad smile.  
  
"There are no elven children, and there have been none born for many years. And though the Firstborn are bound to Arda, and have an almost endless appreciation for its beauty, there can come a time when one becomes....weary. You have given me the opportunity to see the world through young eyes again, and I am grateful for it. I have quite enjoyed our afternoon." He looked up at the last rim of the setting sun, and the first pale star of the evening, and sighed.  
  
"We must be going back now, I fear. My household guard were loath to let me wander alone, and they will come forth and comb the woods if we are not back in Caras Galadon by full dark." He reached out and gently set the garland on my head.  
  
"A memento for you. I noticed that you did not get one last night." I thanked him sincerely, noticing that I could smell the flowers even when it was on my head. He then took up the bag and his bow, and I did the same with mine. We descended from Amroth's flet, and started down the path towards Caras Galadon in the deepening dark, silent now, but companionable. Lord Celeborn set a swifter pace returning, and wondrously strengthened by the elven food and drink, I had no trouble keeping up with him.  
  
We reached the City before the Lady sent his guard out, and parted company cordially at the base of the giant mallorn. Full dark had come, and the stars peeped from time to time through the leaves as I made my way to the West Flet. I peeked quietly through the curtain before I entered, for I did not want to disturb my lord if he were sleeping. But when I looked within, I found the lamps glowing golden, and the Prince awake, with the Lady Arwen sitting at his bedside. There was a small chessboard on a little table between them.  
  
"My lord? May I come in?" I asked before I entered. There was a distinct note of pleasure in his voice as he answered.  
  
"Hethlin! Of course!" I pulled back the curtain, and stepped into the room. A sudden breeze made the lanterns flicker a bit. Prince Imrahil looked up at me, and what little, hard-won color he had drained from his face. I saw his eyes go dark and wide, like Faramir's when he was dreaming. He took in a quick, sharp breath, then after a long moment, let it out in a long sigh. His head drooped, and he shivered. Arwen took his hand, and I rushed to his other side and took up the other one.  
  
"Shall I get my father, Imrahil?" she asked him.  
  
"My lord, are you all right?" He nodded after a moment, squeezed both our hands gently, and looked up.  
  
"It was nothing. A momentary.....pang. It's gone now." Arwen stood up, and made to leave.  
  
"I think I may have overwearied you this evening. Shall we take up where we left off tomorrow? That way, perhaps you may yet dream a way out of your dilemma." Her eyes were glinting with amusement as she surveyed the board, and the Prince, recovering himself, smiled ruefully.  
  
"I fear I would need a week to plot a way out of the mess you've put me in, my lady. Aragorn should have had you on the Pelennor and at the Morannon."  
  
"At least he will be able to consult with me on future conflicts, my lord prince. A good night to you, and to you as well, Hethlin."  
  
We chorused our goodnights to her as she left, and then the Prince looked at me. His free hand made a small gesture at my flowers.  
  
"It looks as if you have had a good time today. Where have you gone, and what have you seen?" I grinned at him.  
  
"Does my lord require a bedtime story?" He smiled tiredly back at me, and I was relieved to see a little color return to his cheeks.  
  
"That would be lovely. You have a very.....soothing....voice. But please do not take it amiss if I drift off before you are finished."  
  
"I thought that was the purpose of bedtime stories."  
  
"Indeed." So I told him of my wanderings in the city, and in the woods, and as I did so, his eyes returned to their normal sea gray, and his eyelids began to droop. I softened my voice when I began to describe Cerin Amroth, and they closed completely, and the fingers tangled in mine went slack. When I had finished the tale, I spoke to him quietly.  
  
"My lord?" There was no answer, but a small smile was curling the corners of his mouth. So I carefully pulled my hand free, and tucked the bedcovers up about him. Then I rose, quenched all the lanterns save one, and sought my own rest. 


	30. Cerin Amroth

Author's note--Whew! Here it is at last, the big three-oh! And it was a much, much longer time coming than I had hoped or wished for, all courtesy of Elrohir, who was very insistent about something I had not intended. Tia--I think youwill find that this chapter has enough Elrohir for even you. 

I must give credit where credit is due and say that the idea of Elven soul-bonding comes from my good friend Soledad, whose stories about Rivendell and Boromir are very good. Check them out. Soledad, it's been a long time coming, but--this one's for you!   


The next morning I awoke to the same maid who'd served me before setting another huge breakfast at the small table. To my surprise, because of her previous silence, she addressed me in Sindarin. 

"The Lord of the Galadrim asks that you meet him at the fountain after you've dressed and broken your fast, lady." I blinked at her, amazed for a moment, then found my voice. 

"Please tell Lord Celeborn that I will attend him as quickly as I may." She nodded respectfully, then departed. I set to my breakfast with a will, while contemplating mychange in station. It seemed I had the Lord of the Galadrim's favor, and having such, suddenly existed for his subjects. 

As I ate, I looked about the room, and my attention was caught by two new items. The first was a new set of elven clothing that had been laid out, leggings, tunic and boots as before. But this time the tunic was a pale leaf green, and woven in a pattern of leaves, the leggings were darker green, and the boots black. I liked them even better than the ones I had worn the day before, and hoped that I would be allowed to take them home with me--along with a towel, of course! 

The other thing was a carved wooden box that had been set by my saddlebags. I got up toinvestigate, a piece of toast in hand, and found that it was a square wooden box, intricately carved with leaves and flowers. It measured a little more than a foot on each side, and was only about four inches deep. When I opened the tiny hook catch and lifted the lid, I found it contained the garland Lord Celeborn had made me the evening before, still as fresh as it had been then. I smiled with pleasure, for the box was small enough that I could carry it in my saddlebags. The flowers would dry in time, but the box would protect them and preserve my memento for many years. 

I finished my breakfast, and dressed swiftly, fighting the usual morning battle with my hair, and making sure I'd washed up thoroughly. When I'd done, I practically flew down the ladders and walkways. Lord Celeborn was at the fountain before me, accompanied by a male servant elf who was carrying what looked to be a large, rolled up carpet. 

"Good morrow to you, Lady Hethlin," he said to me pleasantly. I bowed deeply. 

"And to you, Lord Celeborn. Thank you for the box." I was beginning to recognize by now his rather subtle expressions, and knew from the gleam in his eye that he was pleased. 

"You are very welcome. It occurred to me last night that you might like it. Many young ladies enjoy saving flowers." 

"Few, I think, have had such flowers to save as a garland woven by the hand of the Lord of the Galadrim himself." 

"More than you might think. My lady wife, of course. And I have made them for many ladies over the centuries, for we often bedeck ourselves with them during the seasonal festivals." He gave me a sideways, slanting look that did not contain his grandson's manic mischief, but had a gentle twinkle to it all the same. "As garland makers go, I am considered very proficient." 

"I am sure that you are, my lord," I assured him sincerely. The twinkle intensified, and I gave him a hesitant smile. "How may I serve you this morning?" He started walking, and gestured for me and the rug carrier to follow him. 

"As for that, Lady Hethlin, I have heard all manner of disturbing tales about your lack of training in your gifts, and as we will have some time before we leave, and further opportunities upon the road, I have decided to teach you myself." 

Greatly surprised, I started walking more quickly to draw abreast of him, almost running, for he was striding long again, as was his wont. We headed towards the southern part of the city, following the course of the stream that poured from the fountain on the lawn, moving downhill, and eventually we came to an enclosed garden that was open to the sky and filled with flowers. A long stairway led down into a deep green hollow. 

"My lady's garden," Lord Celeborn said, as we went down the stairs. In the green hollow was a stone pedestal carved like a branching tree. A silver basin and ewer stood upon it, near the stream, which traversed the hollow. Upon reaching the bottom, I walked over and examined them more closely. It seemed a peculiar place for a washbasin....there were similar shallow basins in some of the gardens of Minas Tirith for birds to bathe in. It would be a very Elvish sort of thing to provide the winged denizens of Lorien with such a comfort, and in such an elegant fashion. But when I told Lord Celeborn my supposition, he made a funny, muffled noise behind an elegant hand. 

"'Tis my lady's Mirror. In it, she can see the past, the present and the future," explained the Lord of Lorien when he'd recovered. "Perhaps you might prevail upon her to let you look into it." I pulled back the hand that had been about to touch it. Unexplained Elven customs had already tripped me up once since my arrival here--Elven enchantments were best avoided altogther. 

"I would not dream of putting her to the trouble, my lord. Besides, it has been my experience that such things are of little use." Up went the eyebrow. 

"And how is it that a youngling such as yourself has knowledge of such things?" The elven servant busied himself in spreading the carpet upon the grass, which was still wet with dew. 

"A friend of mine back in Minas Tirith is a dreamer. He has visions all the time. Why, right before I left, he had one right in front of me--all about birds, and swords and rain. We neither of us could make anything of it. But it's always like that for him--they're like riddles. We can never figure out what the visions mean till after something happens. Then we say, 'Oh, so THAT'S what that meant!' But it's no help for actually knowing what to do BEFORE something happens. That's why I say visions are of no practical use." 

Lord Celeborn lifted his handsome head to the morning light, and started laughing. The servant elf gave him a very startled look, sketched a hurried bow, and departed hastily. 

"I suggest you keep such sentiments to yourself around my lady, Lady Hethlin," he said after a moment, still laughing softly. "She is quite proud of her prowess with this sort of magic, and finds it very useful. But then, she has been doing this for a very long time, and her visions are most likely much more controlled than those of your friend. Now, however, it is time to concern ourselves with your gifts." He sank tailor fashion onto the rug, and indicated that I should do likewise. "Sit close enough that I may touch you." I did as he bade me, and his slender fingertips reached out and touched my temple. Once again, I felt a presence in my mind that was not my own, and once again, my mind struggled against it. But like Lord Elrond, Lord Celeborn was very gifted, and subdued my reflexive mental struggles gently and deftly. 

*I will teach you to anchor first, lest you have another such mishap as Elrohir described to me,* came his quiet voice in my head. *Everything else is built upon that, and will follow in time.* And so we began. 

An hour later, Lord Celeborn declared us finished for the day. He instructed me to meet him in the garden after breakfast the next day and I bowed and thanked him, and left, feeling a bit odd in the head. There had not been any vocal speech involved--all his instruction was done within my mind, where the knowledge of what I needed to do was somehow gently unfolded within it. Then he would patiently wait while I demonstrated my new skill. Somehow, without being told, I knew that he was watching carefully, ready to protect me from myself, should I do something the wrong way. 

As I came back up onto the lawn, I spied Elrohir coming up the hill. He seemed all in one piece, which was a relief to me, though his expression was a bit sour. 

"Snowsteel! Go get your bow! I'll see about packing some food for us, and we'll make a day of it in the forest." 

"I should like that very much, Elrohir, but I must attend upon my lord first, and make sure he doesn't need me for anything." Elrohir snorted. 

"What ever would he need you for? He has all manner of elven attendants to wait upon him, and he's certainly not strong enough yet for anything else." I gave him an irritated look. 

"Nonetheless, it is my duty to wait upon him, and hear that from him. I am his esquire, after all." 

"And a very good one you are, as I've said before. Very much into the role of a sudden." The wicked glint, never far away, was back in his eyes again. "Or perhaps you find the poor, helpless, pitiful prince appealing on some level?" I sighed,then suddenly remembered the conversation I'd overheard him have with Imrahil in the recent past. It suggested a strategy. 

"Do you wish me to accompany you this day, or do you not?" I asked mildly. "Because if you continue as you have begun, I will not. I can find other things to do--your sister is very pleasant company." He gave me a disgruntled glare. 

"Do not think you can manage me using the Swan Lord's tricks, Snowsteel--you have not his acumen." I grinned. 

"I don't need his acumen, Elrohir, because you desire my company far more than you do his." Elrohir sighed in capitulation. 

"I'll go get the food." 

"You do that. I won't be long." 

I turned, and fairly flew up the stairs to the West Flet, heroically stifling a desire to gloat over my rare victory. 

Much to my relief, Lord Elrond had already dressed my lord's leg and departed. He was sitting up in bed and reading a book when I peeked through the curtain. 

"My lord prince, do you require anything this morning?" He started, looked up and saw me, and smiled. 

"Hethlin! Do come in! You needn't concern yourself--I have already been given my breakfast, and am quite content." I entered, bowed, and seated myself in the chair occupied by Lady Arwen the night before, taking the opportunity to look him over as I did so. His color was much better this morning, and he did not have the weary, exhausted look of the night before. However Lord Elrond may have felt about me, there was no doubt he was an excellent healer. The Prince was proof of that. "You look as if you are feeling better, my lord." 

"A good bedtime story always puts me to rights. Though I fear I may have missed some of it." The Prince noticed me looking at the chess board. "Do you play, Hethlin?" 

"No sir. Is the Lady Arwen really beating you as badly as you said?" He gave the board a quick and practiced glance. 

"In truth, the situation looks not as grim as it did last night. Perhaps it was because I was so tired. I may be able to extricate myself yet. When the Lady Arwen and I have finished this game, I'll teach you if you like." 

"I would not wish to bore you, my lord." 

"You would not bore me. And chess is a warrior's game--you'll like it. Being able to play a good game is also said to be a courtly grace. Consider it my contribution towards your education." 

"You're not wasting any time about that, are you, my lord?" 

"Since beyond all expectation I actually have some more time-- no, I'm not, Hethlin. How were you planning to spend your day?" 

"Elrohir's packing a lunch. We were going to spend the day in the forest." 

"That sounds......pleasant." His face became that of a diplomat suddenly, his expression unreadable, his true thoughts indecipherable. Yet I thought I could guess well enough what he was thinking. 

"You do not approve." 

"As I said once before, your relationship with Lord Elrohir is none of my business." 

"Has his father been talking about me?" The Prince folded his hands upon his open book, and gave me a direct look. 

"He has not troubled my peace by intentionally discussing the matter with me. However, I share a trait with one of my esquires, it seems--from time to time, I hear things I was not intended to hear, usually because it is erroneously believed that I am asleep." Embarrassed, I bowed my head, my cheeks pink. "Hethlin," he continued with a certain degree of sympathy, "would you care to discuss the situation with me?" 

"I would, my lord," I admitted, "for you are a wise man, and I value your council. But there is too much that I myself do not know yet. I hope to get some answers from Elrohir this afternoon." 

"Good intelligence is essential to proper planning," he agreed after a moment. "I hope you enjoy your picnic." 

"I will. I like picnics." 

"As do I," noted the Prince. I gave him an inquiring look. 

"Shall I look in upon you this evening, my lord?" Fingers knitting together upon the book, he gave me a pleasant smile. 

"If you have the time and are not too tired. I always enjoy your visits. Good luck with your information-gathering." 

"Thank you, sir." I stood and bowed. He gave me the little shooing motion once more, and I left with a smile on my face. 

Elrohir was waiting for me at the bottom of the mallorn, once I'd retrieved my cloak and bow and quiver. He had acquired his own bow and arrows, and a large shoulder bag from somewhere, like unto the one his grandsire had carried the day before. 

"How fares the Prince?" he inquired upon my arrival. 

"Much better today, I think. He actually has some color to him. Your father is certainly a good healer--I did not think there would be any way the Prince would be looking so well this quickly." 

"Father knows his medicine," Elrohir agreed, rather flatly. He started down the path, and I walked beside him. 

"Your brother seems to know a little about it as well. Why doesn't he study it further?" 

"Elladan is not ready to hang up his sword yet." At my inquiring look, Elrohir explained. "There is a belief among us that those with the healing gift should not be warriors or hunters--those tasks are believed to impede the gift." 

"Oh." I walked for a while in silence, listening to the noises of the city above our heads, then asked, "So, how bad was it?" 

Elrohir did not pretend to misunderstand me. "Bad enough," he admitted with one of his sideways glances. 

"That's what you get for bringing me home to meet the family." He snorted once more. 

"It was not anything you had done, Snowsteel--it was simply the timing. As unhappy as Elladan and I are about this, Father is far, far more perturbed. Are not mortal men protective of their daughters, and resentful of the men who win their hearts away?" 

"I suppose so. My father died before that could become an issue. Did you ever ride with him?" 

"Not really. He came to Imladris on several occasions, I think, but by chance, I was always away with Elladan when that happened. Arwen knew him, and liked him. They would play chess together." 

"Really? She didn't say anything about it to me." 

"She has not had much of an opportunity." 

"You know, if my father had lived, he would undoubtedly have warned me about you." 

Amusement momentarily lightened Elrohir's uncharacteristically somber expression. 

"Oh indeed! And he might have warned me off you as well! Which warning I would have probably paid heed to--he was a great swordsman for a mortal, or so it was said--and he had all those powerful feathered friends. I should hate to have been tipped off a crag by 'accident'!" I laughed. 

"I've been tempted to have you tipped off a crag, or dropped from a height myself a time or two." 

"I have not been unaware of the sentiment." We dropped into silence for a few minutes, then I asked, "What is a marriage bond?" Elrohir's response was very quiet. 

"When two Elves desire to wed, a ceremony is held in which their souls are bonded together. This bonding can only be done once. If one of the bonded ones dies, or goes West, the other may fall in love again, but never again will he or she experience that depth of communion." 

"But that's not what happened to us?" He shook his head. 

"What you and I share is closer to what Elladan and I share. You are more my sister than my lover, Snowsteel." I gave an exasperated snort. 

"Then what is your father so upset about?" We were passing through the passageway to the gate. Elrohir spoke, and once again, the gate opened with no sign of an elf operating any mechanism. I looked closely, for I had been sure that the device must be upon this side, and eventually had to conclude it must be more Elven magic. Crossing the bridge, we turned and started up the path to Cerin Amroth. When Elrohir finally answered me, the somber gravity was back in his voice once more. 

"My father fears that the bond will strengthen over time, and that eventually we will wish to be wed, and he will lose me as he is losing Arwen. And possibly Elladan as well, for he believes that my twin would prefer to remain with me. He may be right about that. I know that if Elladan chose to stay, I would have to think very hard about the choice that lay before me." 

"Did you know that this would happen when you came to the Grey Lands after me?" 

"No. I knew it was a possibility, but then, there were other, more likely possibilities--like my not being able to get back, and possibly dragging Brother down with me." 

"What would strengthen the bond?" He shrugged his shoulders an elegant, elven way. 

"Being together for a long time. Bespeaking each other on a regular basis. Becoming lovers--that last one, definitely. Even then, it would not suddenly become a marriage bond. That takes an agreement, and a conscious decision, on both of the lovers' parts. And a ceremony." That being said, he fell silent once more, and we walked northward for a while. I watched his face closely for a while, and a dreadful idea occurred to me. 

"Elrohir, your father didn't punish you, did he?" He actually flinched, and my alarm grew. "What did he do to you?" 

"He did not beat me or manacle me to a dungeon wall and feed me bread and water, if that is what you fear," he said wearily. "And I am, after all, well beyond the age of majority." 

"Your sister said that it was a bad argument." He shook his head. 

"It was not simply bad, it was horrible. I have never seen my father like that. I tried to explain to him exactly what had passed between us, that you had already made me swear not to do what it was he was so afraid of, but it was not enough. He made me swear again, to him, that I would come West. He bound me by my sworn word to do so." 

"But to make you swear again to do something you intended to do anyway--is that so horrible?" I wished I could take the question back when he turned a suddenly anguished glance upon me. 

"In all my life, Snowsteel, never have I given my word and been forsworn! My oath to you should have sufficient for him. And indeed, if he felt I would break a promise to you, then what good was forcing yet another out of me? He threatened me--he said he would break the bond between us himself if I did not swear." I laid a hand on his shoulder and halted him, turning him so he faced me. 

"If it will reconcile the two of you, Elrohir, then let him break it! I would miss being able to talk to you that way, and the feeling of closeness, but if it will reassure him, then le him do it!" He shook his head, and laid his hands upon my shoulders in turn. 

"No, Snowsteel, for there is a small, but definite danger to you, should he do it. A very small danger, but I will not risk damaging your mind just to make him feel better! I find that I am not that desperate for a reconciliation. Promise me that you will not let him cozen you into letting him do it." 

"I swear that I will not," I promised after a moment's consideration, and he gave me a small, fey smile. 

"Good! We are, after all, two people of honor! But enough of my father for now--I weary of speaking of him. The woods await!" He began to jog off in a northeasterly direction, and I fell in beside him. 

Elrohir may have been named Peredhil, but he was more elf than not, and he was hurting, for I could feel it, and being a hurting elf, he took to the deep woods. We passed Cerin Amroth to our west, and headed more or less north, away from the rivers, into the heart of Lothlorien. The mallorns here were huge, and not interspersed so much with other sorts of trees as was the way of things closer to the river's edge. The air was quiet and timeless--almost the forest seemed a many-pillared hall rather than a wood. We jogged for a time, until I began to be winded, then slowed to a walk, and continued that way for a couple of hours in silent thought. I could feel his grief, dismay and anger through our link, and for the first time tried to actively send comfort back. Having no way of knowing if I was even getting through to him, I thought I must be wasting my time, until I suddenly felt a small surge of gratitude return to me. But it was not until my stomach made a loud growl that he halted, and gave me another small smile. 

"We had best see to that, I think." And with no further ado, we sat down where we were, at the base of a huge mallorn and took lunch out of the large bag. He had packed, or begged, or stolen a couple of large loaves of bread fresh-baked that morning, some grapes and peaches, two different cheeses, a bottle that contained a light, fizzy cider and a bottle of wine. We sipped and ate, and again did not say much. There was plenty left to repack, and we did so. Then Elrohir looked at the bow that had been his, and rested now upon my shoulder. 

"Let us go find a place where we may shoot. You have had little chance to become acquainted with my gift to you." I agreed that that sounded like a good thing to do, and so we found a large glade within the forest, and set up some wands of deadwood, for no elf would shoot into the trunk of a mallorn, or indeed any tree by choice. I got my first real archery practice in a long time, and while relieved to find that my eye hadn't gone completely off, knew that I was still not back up to Captain Mablung's standards. Part of it of course, was the new bow, and Elrohir spent some time teaching me a two-fingered Elven draw which worked with it much better than the one I'd been using. At least I was strong enough now to draw it fully, though after an hour, my arms ached too much to continue--it had been a long time since I'd fully used those particular muscles. 

"Not too badly done, for being out of practice as you are," Elrohir said when we'd finished. "It will take you some time to become accustomed to it. And we'll have to see about getting you some new arrows." I bridled a bit at that, for mine had all been newly fletched by me, and I knew I was a good fletcher--I'd fletched the better part of the arrows the Ithilien Rangers shot--it was how I'd first made myself useful to them. 

"Do not be angry, Snowsteel," he said, discerning my thought, "I guarantee that when you see these arrows, you will wish to have some. There are no fletchers like Elven fletchers. Though perhaps I can persuade them to teach you a trick or two before we leave." 

"I should like that," I said, focusing on the opportunity, and letting the Elven contempt for human craftsmanship other than portraiture slide by. Our shooting lesson concluded, we began to retrace our steps to Caras Galadon. Elrohir altered our course so that we would come upon Cerin Amroth, thereby insuring that we would have a path to walk upon after the sun had set, and indeed, it was setting when we reached the mound. He looked up the hill, and at me, and hefted the bag a bit. 

"They will be sitting for the evening meal by the time we get back, and I still do not relish company. If you did not mind having lunch all over again, we could climb up and watch the sun set from the flet." 

"That sounds like a lovely plan," I agreed, and his face lightened a bit. So we climbed the mound as I'd done the day before, and let the peace of the place wash over us both, then mounted the ladder to the flet. Elrohir promptly went to the western edge, and sat down, letting his legs dangle into space. He gave me a challenging look, but it was unnecessary. I came over without hesitation, and joined him. We sat with our feet swinging over the void, and watched the sunset and ate our simple supper, though he would not allow me any of the wine. 

"Not when we are this high up, Snowsteel--I have seen how much you can tolerate, which is next to nothing. Just because you talk to Eagles doesn't mean you have wings." I growled at him, but in truth was glad to see him finding the energy to be provoking. 

"So--what is Valinor supposed to be like, anyway?" I asked as we watched the colors in the sky brighten, change and finally fade, and the first stars begin to appear. 

"Grandmother is the only one of our family with first-hand knowledge," he replied quietly. "But it is said to be supremely beautiful and peaceful. Those who go because their hearts are pained find rest and comfort and healing. No evil comes there." I gave him a wry look as I sipped my cider. 

"I foresee a problem with this. You would be crawling the walls within a week." He nodded, and drank a long draught from the wine bottle. 

"So I believe as well. I am not ready to be healed and peaceful. I am not sure I would ever wish to be serene. The North has its own harsh beauty, and I relish still the feel of a horse beneath me, the cold wind in my face, and my blood singing with the knowledge that I am on the trail of the servants of the Dark." 

"Not much work for an orc-hunter in Valinor, I would think." His expression became decidedly morose. 

"None at all. And as I told you once before, I have few other gifts. Father intends to leave very soon, within a couple of years. He wants Elladan and me to come with him, and I am simply not ready to. If Sauron had been victorious, I would have fought a rear-guard as our people escaped, then happily left you mortals to your doom--" 

"--Thank you ever so much!--" 

"--but as matters stand, I am of more use here. Sauron may have been destroyed, and Estel crowned, but there are still many pockets of Darkness in both the North and South Kingdoms. I would much prefer to remain till Arwen.....passes on, and then leave. And Elladan agrees with me. Grandfather does as well, though his reasons are not the same as ours. In short, Snowsteel, you are not the cause of the troublebetween Father and me--you are simply the last straw. We have been arguing about this for some years now." 

The sun was well down by now, and the star-studded sky above us cobalt. A tiny breeze moved through the leaves of the mallorn. I sighed, slid back from the edge of the flet and stood, brushing the crumbs from my lap. 

"That makes me feel a little better, I suppose. Though I sorrow still that the two of you are estranged. I lost my father to death--I should hate to see you lose yours to ill feeling. Don't you think we ought to start back?" Elrohir swung his feet back up onto the flet, and turned to face me. 

"Do you suppose you might find your way back to Caras Galadon alone? I dislike asking it of you, but I am still not much inclined toward company." 

"The company in Caras Galadon, or my company?" He rose to his feet as well. 

"The company in Caras Galadon, of course. You are certainly welcome to stay if you wish. I simply thought you would not care to. I am not the best of companions right now." I smiled at him. 

"As I recollect, not too long ago, I was overset with grief when visiting the graves of my family, and very bad company indeed, and you stayed with me. Friends give each other things, remember?" His eyebrow arched mockingly all of a sudden. 

"Just how generous are you feeling this evening, Snowsteel?" I shook a finger at him. 

"Not that generous. But I'll keep you company." 

"Accepted." Catlike, he drifted across the flet to the other side. I busied myself in unslinging my cloak, and after a little thought, spread it at the base of the trunk of the mallorn. Elrohir called to me softly. 

"Leave off with that. Come and look--Ithil is rising over the Anduin." I joined him on the east side of the flet, and we sat down once more with our feet hanging over that side, and watched the moonlight on the water and the trees. 

"I suppose I can understand what your father is afraid of," I said after a little while. "You would have no way of getting word to him after he left that you'd changed your mind and were going to stay. He'd just be waiting for a ship that never came. I think that would be horrible." Elrohir gave me an annoyed glance. 

"I could always send a message on another ship. But I am not saying I do not understand what it is he fears. I am just saying that if he truly trusted me, he would not fear at all. He thinks continuously of how Middle-earth might beguile me into staying, and forgets how much I love Mother and want to see her again." 

"What was your mother like?" I asked, genuinely curious, as he'd only mentioned her in passing once before. The annoyance faded from his face and a reminiscent tenderness took its place. 

"She was tall, and very slender. Her hair was the color of Grandfather's and her voice as silver as her hair. Her eyes were blue as the sky reflected in clear water. She had the softest hands. She was a very kind and gentle person, and in truth, I think she was glad to marry and come to Imladris--Grandmother can be a bit overwhelming at times. Everybody there loved her, and we were a very happy family--until the orcs took her in the Redhorn Pass." 

"You weren't a child then, were you?" 

"Oh no--I was a warrior full grown. It was only about five hundred years ago. T'was Elladan and I rode out to fetch her back. We had others with us, of course, but we were the two who tracked and trailed, and we were the two who did most of the slaying when we found her. I think I knew even then, when I first saw her, that nothing we could do would persuade her to stay. But we tried--oh, how we tried! Father was able to heal her wounds, but nothing he could do would heal her spirit. Scarce a year later she departed. Arwen did what she could to take her place, and after a time, Imladris seemed almost as it had been before. But Arwen is leaving now, and I suspect Imladris will become rather dreary once more. I certainly find myself in no great hurry to return." 

"Surely your sister and the King would welcome you in Minas Tirith at any time." 

"Oh, indeed--and I suspect Elladan and I will spend more time there than Aragorn will like. Particularly when he and Arwen have children--someone must see that they are properly corrupted.....I mean educated--after all. I think I shall enjoy being an uncle." I laughed, and it was followed almost immediately by a yawn. Elrohir rose to his feet, and gave me an arm up. 

"Time to sleep, from the sound of things." I stifled yet another yawn. All the walking and shooting had apparently worn me out. 

"Indeed. I have to meet with your grandfather right after breakfast. He is training my gifts." Elrohir looked pleased. 

"He is? You are very fortunate then. I wish he had trained mine. He is said to be very gentle and thorough. That he should wish to do so does not surprise me--he always enjoyed teaching the young, and has had no opportunity for many years. We'll set off right at dawn then--to give you a chance to have breakfast before your lesson." He was, to my puzzlement, removing the remainder of the food from the large bag and setting it neatly to the side, but when he took the empty sack, rolled it up and placed it at the top of my cloak for a pillow, my questions were answered. 

"Go on, Snowsteel, lie down," he urged, and when I'd unbuckled my sword belt and done so, he unclasped his own cloak, which seemed almost black in the shadows, settled himself beside me, and drew the cloak over the two of us. "Take the pillow, such as it is," he urged, "I do not need one." I did so, and after a moment, even as he had done in the Beacon Hills, slid an arm beneath him, and drew him toward me till his head rested upon my shoulder. He stiffened for a moment when I did it, then sighed and relaxed. I could smell a woodsy scent from whatever he'd used to wash his hair. 

"There," I told him. "you have a pillow as well." He chuckled. 

"And a very fine one it is indeed." He nuzzled deeper into my neck and draped an arm across me. The fingers of my free hand combed through his shadowy, silky hair and he sighed again, softly, in my ear. 

"Do you know, Snowsteel, that Men have for hundreds of years sought to build monuments and dynasties and works of art that would cause people to remember them after their deaths, and with very few exceptions little remains save abandoned kingdoms and tumble-down piles of rock?" 

"And why exactly are you telling me this?" He levered himself back up onto one elbow suddenly, and his hand brushed my cheek. 

"Elves are bound to Arda, as Men are not, and will endure so long as Arda endures. And we possess, the gift or curse, depending upon how you look at it, of perfect memory. You may live to see me go into the West, or you may have passed beyond the world before then, but either way, know this--I will remember you. As you are now, and as you will be, with perfect clarity, till the end of Arda. An immortality of sorts, if you chose to see it so." I considered this for a moment. 

"Why thank you very much, sir!" Elrohir inclined his head, mock gracious, and I laughed. "What happens to the First-Born when Arda ends?" His hand traveled from my cheek up into my hair, and traced the curve of my ear. I shivered a little, and he smiled a little sadly. 

"No one knows. It may be that at that time we will go beyond the world as well, and I will see Arwen and Estel and you again at last. Then there are those who hold that we will end when Arda ends, in a death far more final than Men endure." A strand of his hair fell into my face and tickled my nose. I tucked it back behind his ear, and he caught my hand and kissed it. "It is not a matter of immediate and pressing concern." 

"Well, if I'm still out there beyond the stars when that happens, I promise I'll remember you. That way you'll get your immortality. And since you never age or change, I'll have the easier job of it." Elrohir's wicked grin made its first appearance of the day, and he laughed. 

"Ah, but you are good for me, Snowsteel! You ease my heart!" 

"I am glad to hear it." I studied his face in the dappled moonlight and shadow for a moment. "I have always wondered why it was you took such an interest in me. Do you suppose it's because the same thing happened to me as to your mother?" I thought that he might be offended or upset, but he merely pondered calmly for a moment. 

"Actually, I had never considered that before, but you might very well be right. I know that when I learned of your history, I was most impressed with your fortitude, and was determined to see that you not be hurt again. Perhaps it made me feel better, knowing that someone could go through that, and not only survive, but flourish." I ruffled a lock of my own hair. 

"See? Not silver, but close enough. You never knew me when my hair was dark." Elrohir gave me an arch look. 

"Snowsteel, are you implying that I have confused you with my mother? If so, then I shall disabuse you of that notion right now." And as he had done once before on the Pelennor, he slid an arm beneath me, bent over me, and kissed me, his lips warm and insistent upon mine. This time, there was no momentary panic, just the recognition of how good it felt, and this time when the kiss ended, he did not roll away, but took a long, deep breath, and kissed me again. 

"What happened to it being unkind and unwise to sleep with me?" I asked somewhat breathlessly, when he had finished the second kiss. Elrohir did not answer immediately, but slid his hand into my hair behind my neck, and lifted my head, kissing me once more, harder but more briefly this time. 

"I weary of being wise," he murmured as he then began to give me soft, swift, tiny kisses on my face and eyes and lips and throat, interspersing them with his words. "And I have never been kind. Why should we not do this, Snowsteel? Your precious Steward has made his choice to ride the Rohirrim mare, the more fool he, and he was never your match anyway. You would have been the tall tree and he the vine that strangled you. He is not strong enough for you." Another long kiss stopped my indignant protest at his assessment of Faramir's character, and his hand began unfastening the clasps at the neck of my tunic. "Eomer of Rohan is strong, but hasn't the mother wit to deal with you. Imrahil of Dol Amroth has the wit, and the will and the strength, but not the years left to him. Aragorn would have been your match, and oh, how I wish you had been older, and that he had met and loved you instead of Arwen! There are Dunedain in the North who might suit you--the North breeds stronger Men than does the South, I think." 

"And you? Where do you fall in all this discussion of wit and will?" I asked unsteadily. "I will not be used as an instrument to strike back at your father." He lifted his head to regard me, though his hands still continued to caress my face and throat. 

"I am your perfect lover. I am your friend. I have sworn not to fall in love with you and give up my immortality, and you know I will not be forsworn. I will not trammel or bind you in any way. I would not get a child on you even were you not barren, for such requires a conscious act of will with us. When I am done with you, you will be able to take a man to your bed in joy instead of fear. And I am not using you to hurt my father, for you know well I wished this before he and I quarreled this last time." I reached my hand up to stroke his face, so slender and so unlike Faramir's, no hint of a beard, the skin as soft as that of a young child. 

"What do you get out of this? Besides what I hope would be pleasure, of course." The night breeze rose once more and stirred his hair, like unto the finest silk floss. His eyes were dark and shadowed, his expression as unguarded as I'd ever seen it. For a moment, he actually looked.....young, and a bit uncertain. 

"Heartsease, as I said once before. Heartsease, and the chance for just one night to be a healer instead of a killer. But I am not some rutting Man, Hethlin," at which I started, for he never used my real name, "and even though we are alone here, and forced close by circumstances and the lack of blankets, I am quite capable of simply sleeping this night, if that is what you wish. I will do naught without your consent." 

I looked at him for a long moment, studying his face and trying to actively sense what it was he was feeling through the link. I was not entirely successful, but I could feel a rising desire held firmly in check, and a warm surge of affection when he felt my touch on his mind. And a surprisingly vulnerable loneliness for someone who was soul-bonded to two people. It was the last that finally undid me, that made me lift my arms to his slender shoulders and draw him down to me, knowing all the while that this was a very bad idea. 

"Heartsease it is, then," I whispered in his ear, and the stars returned to his eyes, they kindled into pure silver fire, and he was smiling when he whispered back to me, his hands touching me light as butterflies. 

"There will be joy, Snowsteel, I promise you that." 

What followed then is best described by the King of Gondor's words upon our parting in Minas Tirith--"Elrohir is a truthful person. Perverse, provoking, irritating, contrary, fey, mischievous....but truthful." 


	31. The Liege Lord

I awoke in Elrohir's arms, his leg thrown across me for good measure, my head tucked  
under his chin, and my face pressed against his smooth, strong chest. I woke with a start,  
as I did sometimes of a morning, and felt him stir against me at the jolt. Beneath the  
heavy softness of his cloak, there was the warmth of bare flesh upon bare flesh, and as  
full awareness returned to me, my face turned crimson as memories of the previous night  
flooded my mind. I shifted a bit in the circle of his arms, and they tightened reflexively,  
drawing me even closer, were such possible.  
  
"Be at peace, Snowsteel," he murmured sleepily in his dulcet voice, "'Tis only me." A  
hand strayed idly up and down my back, and after a moment his head shifted, and he  
nuzzled the side of my neck. I turned my head enough so that I could rub my cheek  
against his, and felt his lips smile against my skin. Looking over his shoulder, I watched  
the leaves shift in the morning breeze, making dappled green and gold patterns in the  
sunlight. His lips were plying my neck most delicately, and I was beginning to feel all  
nice and warmly melted inside, when realization suddenly struck me, and I yelped.  
  
"What is it? Did I hurt you?" he asked with concern. I pushed away from him a little, and  
shoved up onto one elbow.  
  
"No--the sun's up! The sun is up!" He looked up, narrowed his eyes, and released me,  
rising swiftly to his feet and going to the edge of the flet to look out upon the world. He  
tossed his gleaming black hair back over his shoulders, and his slim, naked form was  
palely magnificent in the morning light.  
  
"It is not too late yet, but Anor is well above the horizon." I took stock of my hygienic  
situation. It was not good. My cloak was certainly a lost cause, and as for the rest of me....  
  
"I need a bath! And clean clothes! I'm supposed to meet your grandfather this morning!"  
Elrohir returned, began gathering up the leftover food, and throwing it back into the carry  
sack. He took the wine flask, uncorked it, took a swig, and offered it to me. I followed  
suit, and he recorked it. I began to pull on my leggings, and he stopped me.  
  
"Just grab everything and come with me. There's a spring on the north side of the  
mound." He gathered up his clothes and cloak and bow, and started for the ladder.  
  
"What if someone sees us?" I asked, after I'd done the same.  
  
"The only people who would see us would be elves, Snowsteel, and elves don't care,  
remember?" I shut my mouth, and followed him fast as I could, scampering down the  
ladder without a stitch on. He led me down the mound, back into the shadow of the  
forest, and there, as he had said, a spring rose from the earth within an elegantly carved  
stone ring. Upon one side, it overflowed, and poured off down the hill. Elrohir followed  
the new-born stream a way, till we had gone a little distance from the source, then pulled  
his dagger from the belt he carried in his hand, laid his clothes aside, and grubbed up a  
plant from the verge of the stream.  
  
"Soaproot?" I asked, recognizing it.  
  
"Yes, and there's mint down there--why don't you grab some?" I did so, and he sliced  
and crushed the soaproot and the mint together upon a convenient rock. When he had a  
large double handful, we stepped into the center of the little stream. I wet him down, then  
myself, with the bracing cold water, then he gave me half the mixture, and we began to  
wash ourselves.  
  
"Scrub my back, please?" he asked after a moment, and I obliged him, then he returned  
the favor, and soon the back scrubbing turned into front scrubbing and tickling and  
laughter.  
  
"This soaproot makes more suds then I've ever seen before," I noted, dabbing some on  
his face. He gave me his mock-superior look.  
  
"Of course. It's Royal Elven Soaproot." I chuckled.  
  
"There is no such thing!" He stooped, and began to rinse me with splashes of water.  
  
"How would you know, oh child of scarce twenty-two summers?" Admitting he had a  
point there, I returned the favor, then we left the water, gathered our things, and returned  
to the sunlit side of the mound. He wrapped his cloak around me to pat me dry, I did the  
same to him, then we dressed and armed ourselves, and set out on the trail to Caras  
Galadon at a quick trot. The morning air was cool and pleasant, I had been well-rested the  
night before, and my stomach was empty, so it was no hardship to quicken the pace till  
we were running along the trail quite swiftly.  
  
When we were halfway there, I panted, "Mayhap I can get up to my room and get  
changed before I'm too late." Elrohir gave me a somewhat smug look.  
  
"Let me handle that." He said nothing else, and I did not know what he intended--till I  
saw Elladan waiting for us at the eave of the wood, slightly out of breath, and with a  
bundle in his arms. The bundle turned out to be a complete change of clothes for each of  
us, mine being another elven ensemble--this one a pale yellow tunic with a pattern of  
little, star-like flowers, and light brown leggings. We withdrew back under the trees to  
change, and for once, I was not overmuch worried about modesty--it was Elladan, after  
all. He was not in a good mood.  
  
"You owe me something more than a forfeit for this one, Brother! Are you mad? Father  
will be furious!"  
  
"Father is already furious, and he has made me so as well. This is not about Father  
anymore. Though I am sorry if we disturbed your rest last night." I thought about the  
implications of that statement for a moment, and began to blush furiously, but Elladan  
seemed somewhat mollified.  
  
"As it happens, I had some company at the time, so it was not a problem," he admitted.  
"'Twas the dragging me out of bed this morning you owe me for, Elrohir." Elrohir  
nodded, and accepted a comb from his brother, drawing it ruthlessly through the ebon fall  
of his hair.  
  
"Name your forfeit, Brother," he said quietly. Elladan gave him a surprised look.  
  
"I will need some time to think about it."  
  
"As you wish." Elladan then turned to me and gave me a kind smile.  
  
"Good morrow to you, Snowsteel."  
  
"Good morrow, Elladan. I too am sorry if we disturbed you." Elladan shrugged.  
  
"I can shut Brother out, if need be. Do not distress yourself. By the way, Elrohir--Arwen  
knows." Elrohir cursed quietly.  
  
"Why did you tell her?"  
  
"Why not? She is on our side, Brother. And our side needs all the allies it can get.  
Besides, she was setting Snowsteel's clothing out when I arrived to get it, so I suspect she  
was already trying to cover for you." I was refastening my sword belt, when Elladan took  
the comb from his brother, and ran it through my hair. "These pieces in the back are  
almost long enough to blend in, Snowsteel."  
  
"I'm very glad to hear it--I've felt like a hedgehog for so long." Elladan chuckled, then  
began gathering up our old clothes.  
  
"Run on! I'll deal with these." Elrohir gave his brother a swift, hard hug, then we started  
running again, all the way around the fosse till we came to the white bridge and gate.  
Once inside, Elrohir said "Short cut, Snowsteel," turned right, and led me along the inside  
of the great green wall. In a very short time, we could see down into Galadriel's garden.  
There were two white-clad figures seated below upon a larger carpet than the Lord and I  
had used previously, and what looked to be all manner of dishes before them.  
  
"Oh, Valar!" hissed Elrohir. "You go on, Snowsteel." I was about to explain to him about  
how unenthused I was about this plan, when he stiffened slightly, and stared off into  
space. After a moment his eyes regained their focus, he looked at me, and sighed. "Too  
late." Gently, he took my elbow, and we started down the stairs together.  
  
  
It was indeed the Lady Galadriel who had joined Lord Celeborn, and they watched us  
approach expressionlessly. As we drew closer, I could see that a breakfast had been laid  
out upon the carpet. With a gesture, Lord Celeborn indicated that we should join them. I  
bowed to both of them before I sat, and while Lord Celeborn gave me a small smile, the  
Lady Galadriel acknowledged me with merely the slightest inclination of the head.  
Elrohir sank onto the carpet beside me and his expression was somber once more.  
  
"Lady Hethlin, Elrohir. We thought you might be hungry this morning," Lord Celeborn  
declared. "I believe you enjoy our honey cakes, Lady Hethlin?" he inquired politely,  
indicating a large pile of the lacy pancakes I'd been enjoying so much during my stay.  
When I nodded, he picked up an empty silver plate and served me a generous portion.  
Elrohir began to help himself from the dishes set before him, and the Lady gave me a cup  
of cider, for which I thanked her quietly.  
  
"Be at ease, child," she told me in her low voice. "You are not here to face some sort of  
judgment. What passes between you and my grandson concerns the two of you alone. I  
will say that Lord Elrond was somewhat....concerned last night over Elrohir's location,  
and it is known that your bed was not slept in. So it occurred to my lord that you might be  
missing breakfast, and he caused it to be provided, that you might eat before your  
morning lesson. And it suited me to greet the morning with him, for we have not as much  
time alone as you might think, or we might wish." She looked then upon Lord Celeborn,  
and their eyes met and held, and though I could not hear what was said, it was obvious  
that something passed between them.   
  
Lord Celeborn reached out and took a strand of her golden hair between his fingers and  
lifted it to his lips, and she smiled at him suddenly. I wondered what it would be like to  
be married to the same person for thousands of years, exactly how well you could get to  
know another person with all that time to spend upon the relationship. Had either of them  
any secrets from the other after all this time? Had they succeeded in becoming the one  
soul in two bodies that all the romantic songs liked to refer to? Or had they become  
utterly sick and tired of each other through too much contact and familiarity? The latter  
did not seem to be the case, judging from how they looked upon each other, and I found  
that heartwarming.  
  
Lady Galadriel's reassurance restored my appetite, which had been much abated by sheer  
dread when I'd seen the Lady and Lord waiting for us, and I started into the pancakes  
eagerly. After a moment or two I realized I was the wolf among the dainty cats, and  
forced myself to slow my headlong rush to devour my breakfast. Elrohir gave me a  
knowing grin, and I elbowed him in response.  
  
"'Growing girl', indeed," I growled at him, and he laughed out loud. The Lord and Lady  
smiled, and we ate in perfect amity, Lady Galadriel speaking of her intention to bring  
some looms down onto the lawn that day and work with the ladies, the Lord speaking in  
turn to her of various patrols and their findings.  
  
"And what will you do today, grandson?" Celeborn asked Elrohir. He swallowed the bit  
of melon he'd speared on a silver fork, and reached for another.  
  
"I thought I might go and check on the horses today. I think the Prince would rest easier if  
he knew that muck-loving stallion of his was doing well. And Alagos will be missing  
me." I had no doubt that he could stretch that particular errand to last till well into the  
night, in his ongoing quest to avoid his father.  
  
"'Muck-loving stallion?'" the Lady Galadriel inquired, "You have told us very little of  
your journey here, Elrohir." Taking the inquiry as a command, he began to recount the  
high points of our trip, including Caerith's passionate love affair with riverbanks, and  
some of the Prince's more pithy comments about the same. He also told of the orc attack,  
and the aftermath of that, and how I'd summoned the Eagle. The Lord and Lady both  
actually laughed when he came to the part about Elladan and Gwaenaur.  
  
"I knew that he would come to grief over that one day," was the Lord Celeborn's amused  
comment. "I remember when he first stole that feather. As chance would have it, I came  
to Imladris almost immediately afterwards, and found him still in bed, having to lie only  
upon his stomach because his father had just finished removing all that gravel from  
his......rump." I smiled at the mental image he presented, and the Lady Galadriel lifted a  
golden eyebrow.  
  
"What I am amazed about in all this is that Gwaenaur came to you, Lady Hethlin. There  
have been very few occasions that I can remember where a lady of the Eagles has lowered  
herself to serve anyone--we deal almost exclusively with the Windlord and his vassals.  
The windladies keep to themselves and tend the nests. They do not risk themselves in  
battle, or in the delivery of messages. Did you not know this?" I dabbed delicately at my  
mouth with a napkin, trying to be mannerly and couth.  
  
"No, milady, for my father perished before he could explain anything to me about the  
heritage of our house. I wonder if, in fact, he would have told me at all, or merely waited  
till my brother was of age, and told him instead. I'm finding out about this as I go along.  
Do you know her? Is she important?"  
  
"We have spoken a time or two, she and I. And I suppose you could say she is  
important--she is the Windlord's dam."  
  
"Oh." I digested this along with my breakfast. Lord Celeborn, who had been eating some  
grapes, laid the naked stem upon his plate.  
  
"Your father passed through Lorien once, Lady Hethlin, headed East on an errand for the  
Eagles. He was in great haste, both because of the errand, and because he did not wish to  
leave his wife, who was heavy with a child I believe now to have been you. I noticed at  
the time that while he spoke with all the Eagles, he was actually closest to Landroval, the  
Windlord's brother. Perhaps one of the Eagles becomes a particular companion, and  
perhaps Gwaenaur's interest is because you too are female." I considered this.  
  
"It seems a reasonable assumption, my lord. I do not know if any of the women of my  
House have actually spoken to the Eagles before. I don't know anything at all."  
  
"An admission that is the seed of all true wisdom," chuckled Lord Celeborn. I smiled  
uneasily in return, for despite the Lady Galadriel's words, I was still waiting for the axe to  
fall. But the meal was finished peacefully enough, and Lady Galadriel eventually rose to  
depart. Her delicate hand reached out to her Lord as she did so, and stroked his cheek  
gently. He raised it to his lips, and kissed it, and watched her go with a smile for a  
moment before he turned back to me.  
  
"Let us move some of these things aside." We did so, stacking the plates in piles to be  
removed later. Elrohir helped us, and his grandfather indicated that he was welcome to  
stay. So he settled himself down beside me as his grandfather and I did as we had done  
the day before. Once again, we worked upon anchoring, and once again about an hour  
passed before Lord Celeborn declared himself satisfied. He seemed to feel that I was  
making good progress, and if he and Elrohir had exchanged thoughts while he was  
teaching me, I couldn't hear them. They did speak briefly, at the end of the lesson.  
  
"You are rather apt to this, it seems, Snowsteel," Elrohir commented. His grandfather  
gave him a disapproving look.  
  
"Apt enough that you could have taught her. And should have, as soon as you knew what  
was going on, Elrohir. You or your brother. As the only two Gifted in the area at the time,  
it fell to you two to deal with it, that she not be put into peril." Much to my amazement,  
he did not bridle at the rebuke, but bowed his head and spoke quietly.  
  
"Yes, Grandfather. I am sorry." Lord Celeborn made to rise, and as he did so, his hand  
stroked the black head before him gently.  
  
"I will speak to your brother of this as well. But I am not the one you need to apologize  
to. Good day to you, Lady Hethlin--I will see you in the morning." I rose to my feet, and  
bowed.  
  
"Thank you, my lord. Good day to you as well." He smiled at me, and swept towards the  
stairs, a towering, regal figure. Elrohir got to his feet, and reached a hand out to me.   
  
"I am sorry, Snowsteel. He is right--I should have endeavored to teach you sooner." I took  
his fingers in mine.  
  
"As I recollect, we've both been a bit busy." He drew me towards the stairs.  
  
"Even so, there were opportunities. Around the campfire at night, that sort of thing."  
  
"Ah, but then I wouldn't have had the chance to be taught by the best." He looked at me  
sidelong, his eyes twinkling.  
  
"Is that a generous excusing of my shortcomings, or an insulting comparison of my  
abilities to my grandfather's?" I grinned back, and squeezed his hand.  
  
"A little of both, I think." He let go of my hand, and his arm slipped about my waist, and  
drew me close as we climbed. After last night, I found I did not mind such casual contact,  
at least not from him.  
  
"I haven't asked yet, Snowsteel--are you all right this morning?"  
  
"Can you not tell?" I felt the touch of his mind on mine, more completely than ever  
before. He'd been right, it seemed, about our becoming lovers strengthening the bond.  
  
"Oh, you are! That is good!"  
  
"You sound surprised, Elrohir. It would appear that you are a better healer than you  
thought you were." There was a surge of pleased gratitude through the link.  
  
"Are we lovers, then?" I considered this for a lengthy moment.  
  
"It would appear that we are." Another surge of happy pleasure through the link, and he  
actually bounced a step as we ascended the hill toward the royal mallorn.  
  
"Well! That is most excellent! Would you like to come with me today to see the horses?"  
  
"I would like to very much, if the Prince does not require me."  
  
"Of course. I have been rather demanding of your company of late. You should see if he  
needs you. If he does, we can always meet again tonight." There was nothing snide or  
malicious in his voice for a change when he spoke of the Prince. Apparently, getting  
exactly what he had wanted made him the soul of courtesy and amiability.  
  
We said nothing else until we reached the verge of the lawn, whereupon he turned to me  
and drew me close.  
  
"I will return in a little while, to see if you can join me. Until then--" His lips came down  
softly on mine, then became more demanding. I leaned into the kiss, beginning to be  
accustomed to and welcome the feeling of warmth that rose within me when he caressed  
me. I was both abashed and pleased that he was doing this in broad daylight--abashed  
because I was not used to such public displays, and pleased because he obviously was not  
ashamed of having me as a lover. This was not some furtive pleasure-grab on his part, to  
be done in darkness only.  
  
"ELROHIR!" Elrohir and I jerked apart, and looked about the lawn for the source of that  
outraged exclamation. To our right, ladies-in-waiting were assembling and arranging  
some tall looms, and spinning wheels, and baskets of fiber. To the left, the odd elf or two  
looked at us curiously. Murmurs rose from both these groups, and elegant necks craned to  
regard us. Hard by the fountain, in a large chair padded with pillows, and a matching  
footstool also so padded, rested my lord the Prince, well-covered with blankets. And  
standing over him, with a face as dark as the clouds that had used to hover over the Ephel  
Duath, was Lord Elrond of Imladris.  
  
Elrohir blanched for a moment, then I saw his jaw harden.  
  
"Yes, Father?" he called sweetly across the lawn. Lord Elrond's eyes blazed grey fire.  
  
"Where have you been?"  
  
"Just now? Having breakfast with Grandmother and Grandfather."  
  
"Yesterday. And all of last night." The Lord of Imladris' words were bitten off short with  
fury.  
  
"Yesterday, I took Snowsteel out to show her the forest, and practice our shooting. We  
spent last night at Cerin Amroth. Why? I was unaware you required me for anything."  
  
"Hethlin," called my liege lord quietly, crooking a finger, and though I did not want to  
come any closer to Lord Elrond than necessary, I came across the lawn to him, and sat  
where he indicated upon his left side, opposite the Elf-lord, who looked at me with  
undisguised anger. Elrohir followed right behind me, and stood before his father.  
  
"What I require of you is that you show some control and discretion, which, it seems, you  
are incapable of doing." Elrohir's lip curled slightly.  
  
"On the contrary, father, we stayed at Cerin Amroth rather than tryst within the walls of  
Caras Galadon, and we were alone. How much more discreet do you wish us to be?" My  
Prince sucked in a quiet breath when he heard that, and I watched his eyes flick quickly  
from Elrohir's face, to his father's, to mine, assessing the situation and possibilities with  
all of his usual discernment. Worried about distressing him further and aggravating his  
illness, and feeling Elrohir's anger and grief through the link, I got to my feet, shaking off  
the Prince's weak attempt to restrain me. The time had come, I decided, to confront Lord  
Elrond at last.  
  
"Actually, my lord, the only thing you have required of your son is that he come West,  
and as he has been coerced into giving his oath to do so, and as he is an adult and you  
know that he is a person whose word is good, what he does in the meantime is really none  
of your affair." I addressed him with my chin up, making an earnest effort to control the  
quaking feeling in my middle. Both Lord Elrond's eyebrows shot up--it seemed I had  
surprised him at last.  
  
"You would dare--" he began, and I cut him off, my surpressed anger at my treatment at  
his hands flaring forth at last.  
  
"--Yes, I would dare! Your behavior towards me and your son since our arrival here  
shames both my house and yours! How dare you interrogate me as if I were some  
common criminal, left hungry, thirsty and weary while you satisfied your curiosity? How  
dare you force him to swear to you to come West when he told you he had already sworn  
to me not to give up his immortality? If you cannot see that these ill-advised efforts to  
bind him to you more closely have only hurt him and succeeded in driving him further  
away from you, then you are nowhere near as wise as legend paints you." I glared at him,  
breathing hard. He stared back for a long moment, his expression unreadable.  
  
"This is not the time or the place for a discussion of my shortcomings as a parent, young  
woman." Then, dismissing me entirely, he turned to the Prince.  
  
"Are you well, Prince Imrahil? I am sorry if we have distressed you."  
  
"I am well enough, Lord Elrond, and quite happy to find myself with new sights about  
me," the Prince reassured him, his hand suddenly tight upon my arm once more. "I intend  
to enjoy myself today--your daughter is to join me shortly for a chess game." Lord Elrond  
acknowledged this with a brief nod, gave Elrohir and me one last displeased look, drew  
his robes about him, and departed. The Prince released my wrist, and I sank back into my  
chair with a groan.  
  
"So much for my dynasty." Elrohir stared at me, a suddenly stricken look upon his face.  
  
"Oh Valar, Snowsteel! I completely forgot about that! Here, let me go talk to him. If I  
apologize enough, perhaps I can persuade him to help you." He made as if to leave, but I  
raised my hand to stop him.  
  
"Nay, Elrohir, wait a while. Let his anger cool a bit first. Though I don't know what you  
will be able to say to him to change his mind. No manner of apology can change the fact  
that we are soul-bonded lovers. Even if you could make him be more kindly disposed  
towards me, he would simply think you were trying to have me healed so that we could  
have children."  
  
"There is some truth to that," Elrohir said glumly, but then he brightened a bit. "I think I  
shall speak to Grandmother on your behalf instead. She knows something of healing, and  
might be able to help. And Grandfather approves of you, so she does as well, for she  
trusts his instincts in such matters."  
  
"I should not like to put her to any trouble." Elrohir shrugged.   
  
"In truth, I have no idea how much trouble it would be for her, or if it is even within her  
abilities. But I will ask. If she cannot, or will not, she will have no qualms about telling  
me so."  
  
"Thank you, Elrohir. I would appreciate that." The Prince looked from one of us to the  
other, and sighed quietly.  
  
"This is where I fear I must ask you, Prince Elrohir, what exactly is the nature of the  
relationship between you and my esquire? 'Tis not prurience that makes me inquire, but  
necessity. If it is her intention to go North with you when you leave Gondor, I will not  
oppose her, but I should like to know so that I may speak with the King, and release her  
from her vow." Elrohir dropped gracefully down to sit upon the grass at the Prince's side.  
  
"First, let me explain what a soul-bond is, and how it was that Snowsteel and I happened  
to become so joined." I listened quietly as he recounted the story of my rescue from the  
Grey Lands, and explained about soul-bonds and Elven marriage bonds. He told of his  
promise to me in the Beacon Hills, and of his father's reaction to the discovery that we  
were bound together, and how he had been forced to swear to go into the West. Imrahil's  
mouth tightened slightly as he listened to that last bit--I knew from personal experience  
that the Prince thought little of people who would compel someone to swear an oath.  
  
"I gather from the.....conversation with your father just now that the two of you  
were...together last night," he said when Elrohir had finished his tale. Elrohir nodded, and  
I answered.  
  
"Aye, my lord." He gave me a very intent look.  
  
"And was this done with your consent, Hethlin?"  
  
"Aye, my lord." He frowned slightly, and rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment, a  
gesture shared by his nephew.  
  
"Is it your intention to wed in some human fashion, even if you do not undertake the full  
Elven ceremony?'  
  
"Nay, my lord," I answered quietly.   
  
"Is it then your intention to continue in this......relationship without a marriage of any  
kind?"  
  
"For now, my lord." He considered this for a very long moment, then nodded and spoke  
to me seriously.  
  
"Very well. Hethlin, you are not my ward, you are an adult, and you are the head of your  
household. Within certain limits, you may do as you please in such matters, and I will not  
dictate to you what you may do any more than I would interfere with my male esquires in  
the matter of their affections. But I am going to say something to you, and I will only say  
it once."  
  
"If you wish to be released from your vow to me, I will do that, even as I arranged to have  
done should I have died. But if you continue with me, and actually start the training, then  
I will expect you to endure the same privation as your male counterparts, who rarely see  
their sweethearts during its duration. There will be no exceptions made for your sex or  
your station or the exalted station of your companion. Do we understand each other?"  
  
"Of course, sir," I said, somewhat offended. "I don't recall asking for special privilege."  
His severe air softened a little.  
  
"I know you have not, Hethlin, but I feel it best to make clear to you what would be  
expected from the start. Likewise, Prince Elrohir," and he turned his attention to my  
companion, "by virtue of your lineage, and your relationship to the King, you are  
welcome in my home at any time. But do not come to Dol Amroth expecting to be able to  
carry Hethlin off on one of your adventures whenever you please, for she will be busy  
with her training. We generally take an extended holiday during Yule and Mid-Year, so  
those would be good times to come and see her. She would have the leisure to be with  
you then." Elrohir nodded.  
  
"I understand, my lord. I will not interfere with Snowsteel's training. Estel would not  
appreciate it."  
  
"What is more to the point is that I would not appreciate it," declared Prince Imrahil, a  
momentary flash of ire in his grey eyes. "However, if at any time the two of you decide to  
alter your current arrangement, and wed in the human manner, I would be glad to host the  
wedding." Elrohir's eyebrow flicked up in genuine surprise.  
  
"That is very kind of you, my lord." The Prince smiled.  
  
"I would do a great deal to secure Hethlin's happiness, for I owe her for my nephew's life  
as well as my own." A tired look came to his face of a sudden, and he laid his head back  
against the pillows and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. I clasped his hand,  
concerned.  
  
"My lord, are you well? Shall I fetch Lord Elrond?" He shook his head the tiniest bit.  
  
"There is no need, Hethlin, though that is generous of you indeed, considering what just  
passed here. I merely felt weary of a sudden. And weary I am indeed--weary of being so  
weak! But Lord Elrond assures me I will be stronger soon."  
  
"Shall I stay with you today, my lord? It seems the Lady Arwen has been a better esquire  
to you than I lately."   
  
"No, that won't be necessary. Please, the two of you go do whatever it was you had  
planned. I shall bide here, and perhaps converse with some of the lovely ladies over  
there."  
  
"We had thought to go back across the Silverlode and check upon the horses," Elrohir  
told the Prince, who opened his eyes once more.  
  
"Indeed? Will you take my poor lad some bread, and give him a pat for me then? I fear he  
is probably feeling much deprived." Elrohir grinned.  
  
"I should rather fear that he is feeling much spoiled--the warders love animals." Imrahil  
shook his head ruefully.  
  
"It would take Elven magic to spoil Caerith worse than he is already."  
  
"These woods are thick with it," commented Elrohir, and the Prince gave me a pointed  
look.  
  
"Yes. Apparently." His tone, though not exactly disapproving, was certainly very dry, and  
I blushed a deep pink under his scrutiny for a moment. Then came that imperious,  
dismissive flick of the hand.  
  
"Go on. Go forth. Go do whatever it is the two of you are doing." We wished him a good  
day, and went forth in search of food to carry with us on our journey. I looked over my  
shoulder to see him lay back against the pillows, his hands folded in his lap. His head  
turned away from us, and it looked as if he were falling asleep once more. 


	32. The Mirror

Author's Note--I fully intended to get them on the road home this chapter, but then I realized there was a bit of sightseeing they hadn't done yet........  
  
  
Elrohir and I made our trip back over the Silverlode to see the horses, and returned late that evening. I was able to tell the Prince the next morning that I had found both Caerith and Fortune to be well-fed, well-rested and full of themselves, and he grimaced a bit.  
  
"You are going to have your hands full with them when we leave, Hethlin." I sighed.  
  
"Indeed my lord."   
  
There were four days before Arwen's escort was due to depart Lorien. It had been decided that the Prince would in fact travel with us, albeit in a horse litter. His embarrassment at being restricted to a mode of travel not in keeping with the dignity of a warrior was somewhat eased by the prospect of being able to see his family again. He was not to be in the horse litter initially, however. To spare him the fording of the Celebrandt and the Limlight, it had been decided that the escort would divide into two parts--the Prince, the Lady Arwen, Lord Elrond, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel and part of the guard would travel for the first week by boat down the Anduin, while the twins and I and the rest of the guard traveled with the litter and the additional horses down the west riverbank. We would all camp together at night and the two seperate parts of the party would eventually rejoin and travel by land by way of the South Undeep, the valley where the Wold and the Downs met in Rohan. From thence, we would skirt the Downs, cross the Entwash at the Entwade,and take the road to Edoras. From Edoras we would proceed on the Road to Minas Tirith.  
  
Those last four days in Lorien I fell into something of a schedule. I would awaken, breakfast, take my lesson with Lord Celeborn, and then attend upon the Prince until the mid-afternoon. The Prince began to teach me to play chess as he had promised, and if he disapproved of what Elrohir and I were doing, I never heard a word about it. But while he was cordial enough, a certain friendly ease that had characterized our relationship was gone, and it seemed as if he were consciously distancing himself from me, becoming once more the lordly ruler of Men who had so intimidated me on our first meeting.  
  
His relationship with the Lady Arwen, however, was flourishing mightily, and rather to my surprise, I would find the Lady Galadriel sitting with him upon occasion when I came to him. Two days before we left, Lady Arwen came down to keep us company during my daily chess lesson (or my daily chess humiliation, which was a more accurate description), bringing her wedding dress with her to work upon while we talked. It was absolutely the single most stunning garment I had ever seen, a soft, shimmering white, embroidered all over with white silk and silver threads in patterns of twining leaves and flowers, shimmering with crystals and tiny pearls. There was but a small gap remaining to be embroidered along the hem, and it was that she applied herself to, her needle flashing in and out, leaves and flowers seemingly growing as if by magic in its path.   
  
"That is truly marvelous, my lady," I told her, genuinely impressed. Ladies' fashions were not generally an interest of mine, but I could appreciate craftsmanship when I saw it. She proferred it to me that I might examine it more closely, but I backed a step away, shaking my head, and holding my hands up.  
  
"Sword calluses. Bow calluses. Bitten fingernails. That would be a bad idea, lady." The Prince chuckled.  
  
"I see we shall have to acquire a good, sturdy dress for you to practice in," he remarked blandly, a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"My lord?"  
  
"Part of the polishing process the King has requested is familiarizing you with womens' clothing, Hethlin. Surely you do not think you can convincingly pass as a lady-in-waiting in breeches and boots?" I gaped at him, appalled, and he actually lifted his head and laughed out loud, the first truly mirthful noise I'd heard from him in a while.  
  
"Oh, the look upon your face! Do not fear, Hethlin--it will not be so painful as all that! My wife's sister, Lady Tirathiel, will acquaint you with the necessary maneuvering. She is a very kind and patient lady."  
  
"My lord, I've not worn a dress since I was seven years old, and my father deemed me big enough to draw a bow." His reply came in a tone that brooked no argument.  
  
"Then Tirathiel will have her work cut out for her. But you will learn this, Hethlin."  
  
"Aye, my lord." Somewhat subdued, I returned my attention to the chess board.  
  
  
Elrohir would come for me in the middle of the afternoon, and we would spend our afternoons exploring the beautiful woods of Lorien, and practicing our archery. Our evenings were spent exploring other things. Joy he had promised that first night I had lain with him, and joy he had delivered--in the days that followed, he gave me much more pleasure in many divers ways, and bit by bit I relaxed enough to finally begin to try to give to him some of that pleasure in return. He seemed quite pleased by my efforts, and as for me--I had not realized how lonely my bed was till I woke warm in the circle of his arms.  
  
Were we good for each other? I know that I could look into his eyes and see myself for the first time in my life, if not a raving beauty, then certainly comely and desirable. And I came to understand, also for the first time in my life, how it was that some women could only measure the worth in themselves based upon the worth of the man who had chosen them. Though the Steward of Gondor had never seen me as anything but his soldier and friend, one of the sons of Elrond had chosen me to be his lover from all the mortal and elven women of the world, and that did wonders for my self esteem. I found myself fussing over my hair and clothes in the morning. I even persuaded the silent maid who served me to trim my hair neatly. No longer feeling grubby, clumsy and inferior, I floated about the flets of Caras Galadon and the glens of Lorien without a care for the sylph-like, ethereal beauties who surrounded me, for it was me Elrohir of Imladris desired.  
  
For his part, I think he derived a certain sense of accomplishment from showing me that the physical act of love could be pleasurable and a certain degree of comfort from my presence. His mood was much improved, despite the fact that he and his father were still at odds.  
  
Although the Prince said nothing about our liaison, and always spoke most civilly to Elrohir when he came to get me, I would catch his eyes intent upon me now and again when he thought I wasn't looking, seeming to assess or measure me in some way. I got the distinct feeling that he was disappointed, and this both irritated and saddened me. I did not feel that I was doing anything wrong, so was irritated at this sign of subtle disapproval. And I was saddened, for the Prince was a man I respected greatly, and whose good opinion I wished to have.  
  
"You think me a loose woman, don't you?" I asked him the morning before our departure, as I tried once more to play a game of chess that lasted longer than five moves. Prince Imrahil looked up in startlement.  
  
"Why ever would you have that idea?"  
  
"The way you've been looking at me the last few days, when you think I don't see." He seemed genuinely taken aback.  
  
"You think I've been looking at you?"  
  
"I know you have. Staring, really. Like you're disappointed in me."  
  
"I am sorry if you feel I've been staring at you. It was not my intention to do so. As for being disappointed in you, or considering you a loose woman, I assure you that I feel neither." He stretched in his chair for a moment, knit his fingers together, and cracked the knuckles. I winced.  
  
"Do you have any idea how many weddings I am going to have to officiate at when we return to Minas Tirith?" he asked me. "Every member of my personal guard who is not already married and has a sweetheart wishes to wed as soon as possible. And the ones who do not have sweethearts are investing their pay in Minas Tirith's brothels. You are no worse than any of my other soldiers, Hethlin--having escaped death and torment, you wish to remind yourself you are still alive in the best way possible. And as your Prince Elrohir noted, your infirmity gives you the freedom to do what another woman could not."   
  
"I believe I would be more comfortable with the situation if you were involved with Eomer of Rohan, or some other mortal gentleman rather than an immortal elf-lord, and I worry for you and Elrohir both, but I do not deny you have the right to keep company with whomsoever you choose." I nodded acknowledgment, then stared at the board while he made his move. After a moment, I spoke again.  
  
"My lord, how do you know if you are in love? Judging from how long it took me to realize how I felt about Faramir, I really haven't any idea when it happens to me." The Prince sat back against the pillows and pondered for a moment.  
  
"That is a hard question to answer, Hethlin, for it seems to be different for different people. Faramir appears to be of the struck-by-lightning school--his attachment to Eowyn was very sudden and very profound. My own experience was rather different--the small, quiet voice of reason in my head that I very seldom listened to at that time of my life told me that Nimrien was the woman I should marry. I was a very wild young man." There was a moment's silence as I waited for him to expound upon this statement, and it stretched and grew. Finally, he looked at me with a gleam of humor in his eye.  
  
"It is at this point that the loyal esquire is supposed to protest 'Oh, no, my lord, you could never be other than the industrious and responsible ruler you are! You could not possibly have been a rogue!'" I laughed, more at ease with him than I'd been in days.  
  
"But I find it very easy to believe you were a scoundrel as a young man! Your bedtime stories hint at more than a passing knowledge of piracy!" He smiled ruefully.  
  
"Alas, I am found out!" After a moment's deliberation, I made my move. "You should not have done that," he informed me, and showed me why, as well as suggested a couple of ways I could get out of the hole I'd dug myself. We played for a couple of moves without further conversation.  
  
"Was your marriage arranged, my lord?" I asked him as he considered the board once more.  
  
"Oh no, though Nimrien was on a list of ladies my father gave me that he considered suitable as potential consorts. I made him nervous--I was almost thirty, his only son, and still sowing wild oats with a vengeance. We grew up together. She was my friend long before she became my wife, and the only one who would dare tell the headstrong Heir of Dol Amroth that he was being an idiot. That, by the way, is an invaluable quality in a lover--it keeps you honest."  
  
I contemplated the fact that I had thus far had no trouble telling Elrohir when I thought he was being provoking, and that he seemed to delight in pointing out my shortcomings to me. I wasn't sure if this was exactly what the Prince meant.  
  
"If you have a great many questions about whether you are in love or not, then the odds are good that you are not," Imrahil continued. "Though the one question you should ask yourself is--'Does loving this person make me a better person?' For it is quite possible to love someone and be lessened or harmed by your love." He made his move after a moment's further consideration.  
  
My thoughts turned then to Faramir. Under his tutelage I had learned to be a Ranger, learned courage and fortitude, gained the capacity to endure great hardship. He had taught me Elvish, and begun the process of turning the farm girl into a lady that the Prince was supposed to complete. And I did not think he had been harmed by my loving him, so by the Prince's criteria, he must have been a good person to love. I made my move in turn, and the Prince looked surprised.  
  
"Well! You are learning!" He narrowed his eyes and stared intently at the board.  
  
"My lord?"  
  
"Yes, Hethlin?"  
  
"Why did you never remarry? Did your wife not wish it?" He started to answer somewhat absently, but after he made his move he gave me his undivided attention.  
  
"Oh, no, quite the contrary--Nimrien told me before she died that she wanted me to find someone else."  
  
"Then why didn't you?"  
  
"Actually, I did look in earnest for a time. And what I found was that while there were any number of young women wanting to be the Princess of Dol Amroth, none of those ladies were interested in being a mother to my children. So I muddled along as mother and father both, and after they were grown, the whole thing seemed rather pointless."  
  
"You were at the Morannon, and then that horrible orc arrow happened. Do you not have the same sort of feelings you were telling me the other soldiers have?" The Prince gave me a wry smile.  
  
"You mean the part about wanting to prove to yourself you are alive and well in the best possible way?" I nodded, a bit pink about the cheeks.  
  
"Ah me no, I got past that sort of foolishness a long time ago. Did more than my share of it in my youth, though. Guard yourself here." I moved, and his eyebrows quirked.  
  
"I wish you wouldn't speak of yourself as if you were this old graybeard, sir."  
  
"I am not a young man, Hethlin."  
  
"But you hardly have one foot in the grave, either."  
  
"Actually, a few days ago I did. If you had not called that Eagle, I would have died. And according to Lord Elrond, you put yourself in some danger doing it." The pink in my cheeks deepened to red.  
  
"I didn't know that would happen. I just saw the Eagle, and had to try to call it--I was desperate. You looked so bad."  
  
"I think I know you well enough now to say that even if you had known you could harm yourself, you would still have taken the risk. And while I deplore the fact that you could have been injured or killed saving me, I do thank you for my life." He took my hand where it lay beside the chess board, and raised it to his lips. With his other hand, he made his move.  
  
"Checkmate." I looked down at the board and frowned, trying to determine just how he had routed me so handily this time.  
  
"A funny way you have of showing your gratitude." The Prince chuckled at my disgruntled growl.  
  
"I would do you no service by letting you win. I give no quarter on the battlefield, or on the chess board. If you ever defeat me on either, you'll know you earned your victory." He laid my hand back down gently, and gave me a hopeful look. "Shall we play again?"  
  
  
That evening, we all sat to dinner at a farewell feast upon the lawn, not unlike the celebration that the twins and I had interrupted upon our arrival, except that this time long, beautifully carved trestle tables were set up, and the Elven musicians circulated among the tables, making sweet music. At the high table sat the Lord and Lady of Lorien. Upon Lord Celeborn's left hand sat Lord Elrond and his family, and upon Lady Galadriel's right hand sat the Prince, myself, and a tall, golden, magnificent elf who was introduced to me prior to dinner by Elrohir as Glorfindel. Thus was one question I had asked myself during our journey answered. My curiosity about Balrogs was also quickly satisfied by Elrohir, as he said it was not a subject I should discuss with Glorfindel. Rather intimidated, I smiled nervously at the very martial-seeming elf as we seated ourselves.   
  
  
The Prince was dressed in Dol Amroth blue and a circlet studded with sapphires and looked, well, princely. As the King's representative, I was clad in my black and silver tabard and garments, mended of all their travel stains by the Elves. A circlet had been found for me as well--a slender thing with an eight-pointed star upon the front of it. It seemed a very elven piece of jewelry, but when I had gazed upon myself in a mirror before dinner, it had looked well enough upon my head.  
  
Very conscious of my etiquette, I watched the high-born Elves and tried to emulate them. I'd spent many more meals in my life gnawing gobbets of meat off of sticks around a campfire than I had sitting to dinner in a formal setting, and my lapse in manners at breakfast several mornings ago had made me very self-conscious, particularly since it seemed that most of Caras Galadon was at this dinner. I did not want to make a fool of myself, and bring dishonor to Gondor. As a result, there was a knot in my stomach that kept me from fully enjoying the admittedly wonderful and delicate Elven food.  
  
A little way into the dinner, the Prince leaned over, his head close to mine, and whispered in Westron into my ear.  
  
"Relax, Hethlin. You're doing very well. If you weren't, I'd have told you by now." I gave him a grateful smile, whereupon he leaned past me, and addressed Lord Glorfindel in flawless Elvish.  
  
"My lord, Lady Hethlin here has been a Ranger in the woods of Gondor for several years, and though she has some family in the North, has never had an opportunity to journey there. As I know that you are integral to the defense of Rivendell, and have had cause to work with the Dunedain, perhaps you could give her some idea of what life up there is like." The glorious golden Elf nodded kindly and began to address me in Westron, talking of orc-hunts and wolf-hunts in the North. This was a subject I felt comfortable speaking of, and before long I'd ceased eating not because I was nervous, but because Lord Glorfindel and I were busily diagramming out skirmishes we'd been in with nuts and grapes and fruit. He was very intrigued by the Mumak, and asked me many questions about them. I got the distinct impression that he thought a Mumak with a fully manned and armored war-tower upon it might, just might, possibly be an adequate opponent for him.  
  
Once, I looked up and caught the Prince looking at me with a small smile and a twinkle in his eye, before he turned his attention back to the Lady Galadriel, and I had to admit to myself that I'd been handled most adroitly. I also saw Elrohir giving him a questioning look, that delicate elven eyebrow arched clear to his hairline. The dinner passed without further incident, and finally the Lord and Lady rose from their places, bidding the diners to stay and sing and dance. Elves hurried forward to begin removing the tables and dishes. Lord Glorfindel thanked me for a very interesting conversation, then strode off in the direction of a group of Elves I'd marked earlier as being of Elrond's household. I had not seen them much in evidence during my stay, but many of them were dark-haired, and they tended to group together.  
  
"Hethlin, the Lady wishes to show me a wonder, and wants to know if you would like to come along," the Prince told me. He was getting stronger by the day, but still could not walk, and two elves had brought forward a chair sitting upon poles, that he might be carried.  
  
"Do you wish me to, my lord?"  
  
"You might find it enlightening." Elrohir came up at that moment, and slid his arm about my waist. He looked at his grandmother.  
  
"The Mirror?" She nodded, very cool and austere of a sudden, even in the golden glow of the many silver lanterns.  
  
"Do you want to go, Snowsteel?" he asked me.  
  
"I think I should accompany the Prince, if he wishes it," I responded. He nodded, and made as if to start down the hill, but the Lady halted him with an upraised hand.  
  
"Bide here, Elrohir. We will not be long." A look of surprise crossed his face, but as it had been with his grandfather, he accepted her stricture without protest.  
  
"Yes, Grandmother." She gave him the tiniest of smiles.  
  
"I promise that much of the evening will still remain for you to spend with your lady when we return." He nodded, and bowed, and left us to go to where his brother was sitting with a harp in his hands. The Prince indicated that I should assist him, and I put my arm about his waist and his arm about my shoulder, and he was able to move the couple of steps to the sedan chair and seat himself. Then one of the chair-bearers gave me a lantern to carry, and the Lady took another for herself. She gestured that I should follow the chair while she preceded it, and we started down the hill.  
  
Only the faintest hint of blue upon the horizon showed where the sun had set, and the stars were bright. The city was rather quiet as we moved down the hill, away from the summit--truly it seemed that everyone who had not been to the dinner was now congregating upon the lawn for the dancing and singing. The Lady glided ahead of us noiselessly, her garments glittering palely. Even the chair-bearers with their burden were silent. I tried to walk as quietly as possible--the evening hush seemed to demand it.  
  
The chair-bearers negotiated the stairs down to the garden without difficulty, though I was glad of my lantern. The hollow was dark indeed, and very quiet. The stars seemed to burn above us. The bearers brought the chair nigh to the pedestal that held the mirror, and set down their burden. I helped the Prince to his feet, and he made the step to the pedestal and braced himself upon it--gingerly at first, until he realized that it was well-anchored and would bear his weight. The Lady set her lantern down, picked up the ewer, carried it to the stream, and filled it with water. Then she returned, poured the water gracefully into the silver basin, and blew upon it. The water in the basin rippled in a rather peculiar manner, then became unnaturally still. The Lady spoke quietly in her low voice.  
  
"We have spoken already, my lord Prince, of my Mirror, and what it does. So my question to you now is--is there some particular thing you would have shown to you, or do you wish to leave the Mirror free to work?"  
  
"I have a thing I wish to see, Lady," said the Prince promptly and firmly. The Lady nodded, and turned her attention to me.  
  
"Lady Hethlin, stand you here by him, in the event he should grow tired. You will not be able to see what he is seeing--the vision the Mirror grants is particular to the person using it. I will be able to see, for I will be directing the Mirror." I nodded in turn, and moved to stand beside the Prince. The Lady stood across the pedestal from the Prince, and directed him to look into her eyes.  
  
"You need not speak aloud what it is you wish to see--simply think about it, and I will know." His grey eyes met hers, there was a moment's silence--and for the first time, I saw the Lady Galadriel look genuinely surprised.  
  
"That is truly what you wish to see?" she asked him.  
  
"Yes, lady, if it is possible."  
  
"Some of it is possible, though I will have to assist you. To go so far back......." She took his hands in hers, and pressed them along the sides of the silver basin, her hands covering his. His weight upon his elbows, he leaned over the dark surface, and she did as well, their foreheads almost touching. "Do not touch the water," she warned him, then they both fell silent. I watched curiously. Light appeared to emanate from the basin, and played over both of their faces; the immortal and beautiful Elf lady, and the mortal Prince who had so nearly died, but when I looked into it I could see no light, but merely the stars shining in the night sky. It was a decidedly strange effect.  
  
They looked into the Mirror for quite a long time, both gazes fixed raptly upon whatever it was they were looking at. Finally, the light faded, and the Lady raised her head. A moment later, the Prince did as well--and his legs promptly went out from under him. Fortunately, I was able to catch him, and at his request, ease him over to the chair, into which he sank with a sigh of relief.  
  
"I am well enough," he reassured me, upon seeing my concerned look. "It has simply been a while since I was upon my feet for so long. But I would not have missed that for anything." He looked up and addressed Lady Galadriel. "It was worth being in peril of my life, lady, to see what you have shown me this evening."  
  
She for her part seemed rather moved, though by what emotion I could not tell.   
  
"I have upon rare occasions granted mortals the privilege of looking into the Mirror, and they almost always want one of two things--to see loved ones they have lost again, or to see the future that they might better discern what course of action to take about a matter. You choose neither--why?"  
  
"My lady, my loved ones live brightly still in my memories, and I know that I will see them again one day--what use to view them once more in the Mirror? As for using the Mirror to determine how best to make Gondor or my own lands flourish--if men's hearts are true, and their arms strong, and they use the wits they were given by the One, then they will flourish without the use of prophecy. But this was an opportunity that will never come to me again, and I chose to use it to see what I could never have seen otherwise."  
  
"Such wisdom is its own reward," said Lady Galadriel, and to my very great surprise, and that of the Prince's as well, I think, she glided over, stooped, took his face within her slender hands and kissed him on the brow.  
  
"A stout defender of your kingdom you have been your whole life, Imrahil of Dol Amroth, and you will serve your new king well and faithfully for many years yet. And you will be rewarded, in ways you may not anticipate." Then she turned to me.  
  
"And will you look in the Mirror, Hethlin called Snowsteel? You who believe that divination is never timely and useful?" I cast my eyes down, wondering if Lord Celeborn had told her of my words, or she had simply seen them in my mind.  
  
"I will look, lady. And I would let the Mirror show me what it will." She nodded gravely.  
  
"Very well then. Simply look into the water, and do not touch it." She did not move to position my hands and help me as she had the Prince. A little hesitantly, I leaned over the basin and looked in, seeing nothing but stars in night sky for a few moments. Then it seemed as if a grey veil had been drawn across the Mirror for a moment, and then the pictures came, so swiftly that it seemed I'd barely started looking at one before another came hard on its heels.  
  
A young man who strongly resembled me, and who I realized was my father after a moment, sitting upon a huge boulder high upon a mountainside, seemingly eating lunch while a huge Eagle perched beside him. My father again, moving through a wood with another, more handsome man, talking and laughing with the apparent ease of long friendship. My father a third time, this time his arm bandaged, a younger version of my mother at his side, speaking to a younger and very concerned Aragorn. A much younger Prince Imrahil, standing in the prow of a ship, the spume flying over him, a smile of pure pleasure upon his face. Faramir, lying in wait in a ditch with Mablung. Faramir, dressed in black and looking ill, leaning against the door to what looked to be a library, his left hand bandaged. Eowyn in a garden with a black-haired toddler and another dark-haired baby in her arms. Elrohir and Elladan, riding armed up into the mountains. Elrohir, dressed in robes, standing in the doorway of a house with delicately carved arches, raising a hand in greeting. Elladan and Elrohir both, with Lord Celeborn, standing on a quay with a silver ship behind them. Prince Imrahil, his actual age now, sitting in a tent with his head bandaged, and an expression of grief so acute that I almost broke my contact with the Mirror to look and see if he were all right.  
  
Then the visions changed, seemed to involve me more directly. I was on a grey horse, mail-clad, charging knee to knee down upon a rank of soldiers. Fighting back to back with someone in a forested area that looked like it might be Ithilien. I could not see my partner, but there was a glint of golden hair in the corner of my eye. Then I was lying on dusty ground, a brutal sun beating into my face, pinned by a dead mount, and struggling frantically to free myself. Riding slowly through what looked to be a large city on a pale and chill winter day, clad in a black velvet dress with something heavy upon my head, the King at my side. Standing behind the Queen and King in a room that was not of Gondorian architecture, again in a dress. Fighting a man in the livery of the Tower Guard, both of us using blunted swords. Dropping my bow, having spent my last arrow and going for my blade, in a narrow gap in what looked to be hills or mountains. I got the distinct impression that I did not expect to survive that one, that my enemies were still too numerous, and that all I hoped to do was to take as many of them down as I could before I fell myself......  
  
With a gasp, I wrenched myself away from the Mirror.  
  
"Hethlin, are you well?" Came the Prince's concerned question from beside me. I took a deep breath, and nodded. Lady Galadriel gave me a look which was, if not exactly compassionate, at least slightly warmer than her usual wont.  
  
"Remember, lady, that if you leave the Mirror to work, it not only shows things that will be, but things that might be. And it can be difficult to determine which is which."  
  
"I should have left such things to those who are wiser than I then, lady." She considered this for a moment.  
  
"Perhaps. But you may find what you saw useful one day, even if you do not think so now." She gestured, and the chair bearers came forward, and lifted the Prince. I took up my lantern again, and she hers, and we began the long climb back up the hill.  
  
When we reached the lawn, the party was at its height, the musicians playing dancing music, and the Elves winding about each other in graceful, intricate pattern dances. The Prince, whose eyes were still glowing from whatever he'd seen in the Mirror, expressed a desire to watch for a while, and was settled comfortably in out of the way of the dancers. He seemed to have recovered completely from his momentary collapse in the dell.  
  
I looked about for Elrohir's dark head, but could not find it, and after walking all around the edge of the crowd, and receiving a grim look from Lord Elrond, decided to go on to bed. I liked dancing, but was more familiar with rustic human dances. What the Elves were doing looked complicated, and as if practice were required, and I was not in the mood to become an immortal object of amusement. So I mounted the stairs of the royal mallorn, and made my way to my flet. For some reason, the lantern was not lit, but after I stepped inside, I could discern a shape in my bed in the dim light, and a dark head upon my pillows.  
  
"Why are you not downstairs dancing?" I asked Elrohir. "I looked for you." He stirred and rose up upon one elbow.  
  
"Father was in a lecturing mood, and I was in no mood to be an audience. So I came here. How was the Mirror?" I began taking off my clothes and throwing them over the chair that was already full of his without answering. After a moment, he got up and padded noiselessly over to me.  
  
"Are you well? Do you want to talk about it?" He laid his hands upon my shoulders. "Valar, Snowsteel, you are shivering."  
  
"I should never have looked in the silly thing, but I didn't want to offend your grandmother. It's just as I always said--you don't learn anything useful, and you just get upset for no good reason." I finished hurriedly stripping off my clothes, and he led me back to the bed, and slipped under the covers with me. His arms came around me, and held me to him. I tucked my head under his chin.  
  
"I think I saw the day I will die." His arms tightened, and his hand began stroking my back soothingly.  
  
"Oh my poor dear. Surely you know that you can see things that are not going to happen?"  
  
"So your grandmother says. If that's the case, it seems a useless exercise to me. I saw you, and Faramir, and Eowyn and the Prince. And I saw my father when he was a young man, and my mother too--that was a nice part. And then there were some other parts not so nice--mostly me fighting." Elrohir dropped a kiss on the top of my head.  
  
"I wish she would stop dragging our guests down to that thing and just use it as a bird bath!" I giggled.  
  
"That's what I thought it was when I first saw it."  
  
"I know. Grandfather told me. It was the best laugh he'd had in decades."  
  
"So glad I am to be an unending source of entertainment to the royal houses of Lorien and Imladris." He began nuzzling my neck.  
  
"What did the Prince see?" he whispered into the crease of it, and I shivered for an entirely different reason.  
  
"I'm not sure. He asked to see something in particular. Your grandmother was very impressed, said he was really wise. Whatever it was, he really enjoyed it. You have to figure," I grumbled, "that he'd do it right." Elrohir chuckled.  
  
"You will be wise in time, Snowsteel." He then withdrew from me slightly, and gave me an unwontedly serious look, stroking my hair gently.  
  
"Are you truly upset about this? If you are, we can simply sleep this night." I considered that possibility for a moment, then discarded it. We would not be able to be together like this upon the road, to the best of my knowledge, and after we reached Minas Tirith, who knew if we'd have the opportunity? Then I would be on my way to Dol Amroth, and we'd already had the Prince's dictate about that. I placed my lips close to his ear, and breathed into it, making him shiver in turn.  
  
"I need to get the death out of my head. Show me what it is to be alive." His mouth came down on mine, his hands drifted coaxingly over my body, and he proceeded to do just that. Thus we spent our last evening in Lorien. 


	33. South Undeep

Author's Note--This is another one of those travel-along-the-road, character-exploration chapters. I did have a more active part planned, but the chapter just grew and grew, so I ended up cutting it in half, much as I did with the Fangorn chapter earlier. The bad news is that this chapter is not as long as it could have been. The good news is that there's another hard on its heels.  
  
  
Elrohir woke me in the darkness before the dawn. We washed up hurriedly, then dressed. It felt odd to arm and armor myself once more--Lorien had been much like Ithilien for me in that I had gone clad lightly like a Ranger, and I had that momentary feeling of being weighted down, and wanting to be rid of the hauberk that I had used to get. For his part, Elrohir was going to have to return to his quarters to retrieve his gear, but he embraced me before he left.  
  
"Will we be able to keep doing this when we return to Minas Tirith?" I asked him as we stood with our arms about each other. He hugged me to him tightly.  
  
"That I do not know, Snowsteel. We shall simply have to see. Hopefully, opportunities will present themselves." He held me out at arms' length and gave me a very serious look. "I do want you to know that I do not expect you to spend your life waiting about for me to make time for you. We are friends. If you should find some young Man you fancy, you need not fear my ire--or my interference." I grinned at him.  
  
"Tired of me already?" In response, he gathered me close again and kissed the top of my head.  
  
"Hardly. But your Prince's concern has some basis in fact. I am an Elf, and I have been known to go off exploring somewhere, or become engaged in some project or other, and when next I think about it, ten years have passed. Which means little to me, but for you, the passage of time is another matter entirely." I gave him a squeeze and stepped back.  
  
"I think you just don't want to be bothered with me when I'm old and wrinkled, but if this show of concern makes you feel better, then so be it. The same applies to you, as well, you realize--if you should find some beautiful Elven maiden, don't worry about me throwing a fuss." He gave me one of his rare, sweet smiles.  
  
"I have met most of the beautiful Elven maidens in Middle-earth, Snowsteel, and kept company with a few of them. I have yet to find one who engages my heart to the extent that I would consider bonding with her. But I will agree with you that we should both be free to look for a life partner." He started out the door of the flet and paused.  
  
"All your Elven things have already been packed with the items that are going on the boats, so just bring your saddlebags. I'll meet you downstairs." I gave him a cheerful wave and continued my packing.  
  
  
Quite the procession left Caras Galadon-- the Lord and Lady of Lorien, Lord Elrond, his sons and daughters, the Lord Glorfindel, and a great train of the members of both households. Much to my amazement, both the Lady Galadriel and the Lady Arwen were clad in ranger fashion, and both of them carried bows. In the midst of all this was the Prince, being carried in another litter. I caught up to him, and walked beside him where the trail allowed.  
  
"How are you feeling this morning, my lord?" In the early morning light, his face was flush with color, and his voice was strong enough. I worried about the strain this trip would be on him, but at least he looked as if he were starting it in relatively good condition.  
  
"Rather parcel-like, if you must know the truth. I keep having the most peculiar dreams about being a package. Of course, that could be because that is exactly what I was." I chuckled.  
  
"Indeed, my lord. The twins and I bound your blankets about you with cord so that you would not become chilled during the trip. You were not happy about it at the time, and I am sorry if it has caused you to have bad dreams."  
  
"I have no complaints, Hethlin. Alphor will undoubtedly be most amused at the tale of his flying-post grandfather when he's a little older. Are you sorry to be leaving Lorien?"  
  
"I should have liked to stay a little longer, I'll admit, but it may be for the best. This seems a place where you could lose track of time very easily."  
  
"Indeed. Not necessarily a good place for a mortal to stay for any length of time, though I will ever be glad that I got the opportunity to see it." I hopped over a root.  
  
"You didn't get to see much of it."  
  
"I saw more than you might think. While you were out roaming the forests, I would talk to the Elves. Lady Arwen was kind enough to interpret for me with those who did not speak Sindarin. I could not go about in Lorien, so they brought Lorien to me. If I expressed an interest in how they did something, or one of their crafts, they would bring a person to me who could answer my questions. They were very kind hosts and nurses both."  
  
"I am glad you found it worth your while, my lord."  
  
"Just the Mirror by itself made the journey worthwhile."  
  
"What was it you asked to see, if I may be so bold? Whatever it was, you seemed to enjoy it."  
  
"Things out of legend, Hethlin, out of old songs and stories. Wondrous things." The glow was back in his eyes again, but after a moment, he returned to himself. "I wish your experience with the Mirror had been as nice as mine." I grimaced.  
  
"Maybe it wasn't because I was so scornful. If I'd come into it more respectfully, perhaps my visions would have been......kinder. Or perhaps I should have asked to see something specific, as you did." The Prince gave me a quizzical look.  
  
"What would you ask to see, if you had it to do again?"  
  
"I'm not sure. What you said about your loved ones living in your memories, that was very true. And I know very few old legends to do as you did. Maybe......maybe I might have asked to see my ancestor, the one who sold his soul to the Witch-King. To see why he had done it. Then again, maybe not. Seeing the Witch-King once was enough." Imrahil sat up a little straighter.  
  
"Do you know, Hethlin, I have never heard that tale told in its entirety? And it is a story I think I should like to hear. Elrohir told me the other night about Angmar sending you to the Grey Lands, but naught about what came before."  
  
"Did Faramir never tell you about it, my lord?"  
  
"No, it never came up. But then, he might have felt it was a private matter."  
  
"In truth, it is not a tale I particularly wish to tell, my lord."  
  
"Please, Hethlin--I really would like to hear it." He gave me a beguiling, beseeching look, and I sighed in capitulation.  
  
"Very well, my lord," and gave him a dryly brief description of my ancestor's betrayal of the Dunedain, and the prophecy, as described by Aragorn. Then I told him of the encounter itself, as dispassionately as I could, how I had been drawn to the Witch-King in spirit after while asleep in the Ranger barracks, and what he had said about why he'd been able to. The Prince's face clouded as I recounted this, and I could see that he knew something of what it cost me to tell the story once more.  
  
"Then he promised me I could have Faramir, and be a great warlord, even a Queen, if I just did one thing for him."  
  
"And what was that?"  
  
"He wanted me to kill you. You were in command of the City at the time, and he wanted to take it quickly. He said you favored me, and I could get close enough to do it." Something moved momentarily behind the grey eyes so intent upon mine, but the Prince's voice was rather dry when he spoke.  
  
"Interesting that he thought he knew so much of my mind. Since I am still here, I assume you said no."  
  
"I think you overestimate my skills, my lord, but aye, I did, and he cursed me, and said that he'd set a fire in Faramir's flesh and that he would die in torment. When the Rangers found me, my hair was the way it is now." His hand made an abortive movement, quickly stilled, toward my head.  
  
"I had wondered about that, in truth. I thought perhaps the battle had done it." I shrugged.  
  
"When people ask, that's what I say--that I got scared. It's not like anyone would believe the real story. It was more like a dream than anything else. The worst possible dream you could have." I ducked around a tree trunk, and came back to the trail. The Prince looked as if he were pondering something.  
  
"Faramir believed you when you told him?"  
  
"Faramir knew I couldn't know that he'd been fevered, so what the Witch-King said about setting him on fire proved it to him."  
  
"And Elrohir?"  
  
"He knows everything there is to know about me, from being soul-bonded."  
  
"Ah yes--and is not adverse to blurting it out at the worst possible time."  
  
"He's doing better about that now." Imrahil gave me a skeptical look that indicated he thought Elrohir's improvement was more a lack of opportunity than a change for the better. I ignored it. "As for Lord Elrond, he made me tell him the story when I arrived, and I think he was doing some elven trick to see if I was telling the truth. It was the King who told me about my ancestor and the prophecy, but I don't know if Faramir or Elrohir have told him about my part in it." The Prince nodded thoughtfully.  
  
"Snow.....steel indeed. I understand that now as well." I started getting pink, as usual.  
  
"I thought you knew already, that Faramir had told you. And that that might be a reason why you would be willing to try me as a Swan Knight." He shook his head.  
  
"I was the last one to know, this time. And you had shown more than enough merit in other areas to warrant me agreeing to take you as an esquire." After a moment's thoughtful regard, he said, "You must be very tired of people praising Eowyn of Rohan."  
  
"Not really, sir. She destroyed him. All I did was tell him no." The Prince coughed suddenly.  
  
"All you did was tell Angmar no? Face to face with him, offered everything you could ever want as a reward, and I would imagine terrified almost beyond sanity--and 'all you did was tell him no?'" I nodded, and he leaned back in his chair, smiling and shaking his head slowly as he looked at me. "You give me hope, Hethlin, you really do, that we might actually restore Gondor to its days of glory once more--if we have more like you. Thank you for telling me the story. I apologize for badgering you into doing it."  
  
"It's all right, my lord. I thought you already knew, and if you didn't, I suppose you have the right to know. I'm going to go find Elrohir now." He nodded agreement.  
  
"You do that. And do tell him how circumspect he's been." I gave him a look of mock horror.  
  
"Oh no, my lord! It would be dangerous to have him thinking he's not being provoking enough!"  
  
Imrahil laughed, and I went on my way.  
  
  
Those of us who were to ride crossed the Celebrant in the small rowboats. Larger, swan-fronted vessels with more rowers and awnings awaited those who were to journey upon the river. The twins, Lord Glorfindel and I and the elves who were in charge of the other horses crossed the river, then proceeded on foot to the warders' stables where we found Caerith, Fortune, Nimfaun, Alagos, and a large number of horses, some Elven, some not. Elladan and Elrohir each took charge of an Elven horse besides their own, and I had Caerith and Fortune to deal with. Both had to be saddled, though I was only riding one, for there was no room in the boats for the horse equipment. Each of the elves who were riding also took charge of a second horse for someone on the boat, and there were pack horses as well. The riderless saddle horses were let run free with us bridleless, their stirrups knotted up. Some of them had parcels tied upon their saddles as well. The elven horses among them seemed to direct them and the pack horses, keeping them in a herd.  
  
We traveled along the river for eight days, enjoying fair weather for the most part. We encountered no brigands or orc bands in that time, though we were such a large and well-armed party that they may very well have been there, but chose to lie quiet and let us pass rather than hazard their destruction to gain what would have been a prize beyond dreams. From time to time the elves in the boats would break out into song, and the sound of it would drift sweetly across the water to us; at other times the elves on horseback would sing some sort of riding song and return the favor. Needless to say, I was silent during these occasions.  
  
What became apparent as we traveled along was that the Elves were in no particular hurry. We made about thirty miles a day on the river, and I could have easily traveled fifty. I had thought that Arwen would be in a hurry to get to Minas Tirith, and was puzzled by what I perceived as dawdling. But when I expressed my concerns to Elrohir, he just laughed.  
  
"At times the journey is its own reward, Snowsteel. Remember, we do not feel any particular pressure of time--we will arrive when the time is right to do so. This is your mortal impatience speaking." Then he sobered. "Besides, Father wishes to spend this time with Arwen, as do my brother and I. And Grandfather wishes to tarry with Grandmother for a while. There will be time enough soon for long, swift journeys--and bitter partings as well." The sorrow sounding suddenly in his voice was so palpable that I did not bring up the subject again.  
  
Other than that, the journey was quite pleasurable. Though I could not speak the Silvan tongue, the twins or Lord Glorfindel were usually about to interpret, and I spent some time talking with the Lothlorien archers and fletchers. They also showed me how to fletch arrows Elven-style in the evenings, after supper and my lesson with Lord Celeborn were finished. The Prince started walking a bit in the evenings with a stick, a little further every night. Lord Elrond watched him for the first couple of times, then apparently having decided that he knew not to overdo things, let him go his own pace.  
  
Tales were told at night, as we sat about our fires, and oftentimes there would be singing. Elrohir would sit beside me and translate the stories and songs in the Silvan tongue, reminding me a bit of Eomer, and his brief stint as translator on the journey to Lorien. I would look up from the fire and find Lord Elrond's gaze fixed upon me, but he made no more objections to our keeping company either publicly or in private. I spoke often with Lady Arwen, telling her what I knew of Minas Tirith, and deferring to the Prince when I was out of my depth. She and Prince Imrahil continued their chess games--she had a travel set with pegged pieces that would fit into holes on the board, and not topple. Sometimes when he had finished a game with her, he would play another with me--a much smaller investment of time on his part.  
  
Every morning I would wake to find that Caerith had been busy at his favorite pastime the night before. On the sixth day of this, as I once again cursed and scrubbed dried mud and scum from his hide, he suddenly nickered, and I looked up to see the Prince limping towards us. Smiling at me, he produced a sweet roll for the stallion, who inhaled it, then nudged him affectionately, nearly knocking him off his feet in the process. Imrahil moved to his side, and threw an arm across him, leaning his stick against the stallion's leg.  
  
"Have you another brush, Hethlin?"  
  
"Aye, my lord." I handed him mine, and he began to work on the right side of Caerith's neck while I fetched another from the saddlebags. He gave me a rueful smile.  
  
"Sorry about this. You must be very tired of cleaning him up."  
  
"I'm ready to kill him."  
  
"Oh, please don't do that--he really is a most excellent warhorse. And they tell me we've only two more days of traveling by the river." I sighed at the prospect of two more days of scouring scum.  
  
"You need to be eating your breakfast, sir, instead of trying to do this."  
  
"I can't sit about or lay about forever, Hethlin. I'll just do a little--and a little more tomorrow. Speaking of which, when we all join together to go overland, I'm going to try riding for a short time each day, so I would appreciate it if you would ride him first in the mornings, to take a bit of the starch out." I gave him a somewhat doubtful look, and he gave me an imperious stare in return. "I am NOT going to ride into Minas Tirith in a horse litter and that's final, esquire."  
  
"I understand, my lord." He brushed Caerith for another couple of minutes, then Lady Arwen came and took him off to breakfast. I followed shortly thereafter.  
  
  
On the ninth day, the rest of the party took horse, and we said farewell to the rowers, who turned their boats about and began plying their oars against the current, singing as they went. There was some chaos that morning, as everyone sorted out their mount, and the camp equipment was distributed among the pack horses, but it was soon over and we were setting out, the Prince ensconced in his horse litter. Following his orders, I rode Caerith first that morning, giving him a bit of a run ahead of the other riders. We were traveling the South Undeep, the valley that lay between the Wold and the Downs. There were no trees, and the chalky ground was covered with grass. To our left the Downs were rolling hills that rose to chalky ridges, and upon our right hand the higher hills of the Wold rose, also covered with grass, which was already becoming sere in the warmer heat of the summer. It was a rather bleak and boring landscape, and I got the impression that the Elves were missing their trees already.  
  
The Prince did indeed ride Caerith that day--for about ten minutes before, pale and exhausted, he had to be assisted back into the litter. Caerith, seeming to understand that something was amiss with his master, behaved most sedately, and despite the shortness of the ride, just the fact that he'd been able to ride at all cheered Imrahil immensely. A brief nap as we traveled sufficed to cure him of his weariness, and he was in a most excellent humor for the rest of the day. He informed me later that afternoon that he intended to tutor me in horsemanship during the journey, and when I bridled somewhat, explained that though I was an excellent rider already, I knew nothing of the special maneuvers a war horse could do. I owned that this was so, and he said that he could give me a bit of a head start by instructing me from the litter as I rode within his sight. "So as not to waste any time," he said with a grin.  
  
True to his word, he started that very afternoon showing me the special commands common to well-trained warhorses--how to make them rear so as to strike frontally at enemies, and their lashing, rear kick attack. Caerith was also trained to lay down, though Fortune was not, and to kneel, which made things much easier for the Prince where mounting and dismounting were concerned. Both stallions enjoyed these sessions enormously, and would prance and bounce and be somewhat huffy for a while after we finished. And in truth, I was somewhat relieved to be going over these things with him now--I did not want to appear to be totally ignorant when I arrived at Dol Amroth.  
  
  
My nights during the journey were spent sharing a tent with the Lady Arwen, for I would not have felt comfortable sharing a bed with Elrohir knowing that his disapproving father was separated from us by a mere couple of thicknesses of elven silk, and a little distance. While it was still a bit unnerving to wake up, look over and see the exquisite lady sleeping with her grey eyes wide open, staring at the roof of the tent, at least I didn't have to worry about getting a washbasin full of water in my face. And she was quite friendly and approachable for someone of her age and experience. I did ponder why I should remark upon that where she was concerned, while I simply accepted Elrohir and Elladan, who were even older, and finally decided that it was because she was a woman. I tended to judge women by a rather harsher standard than I reserved for my man friends, perhaps because I had spent so much time in the company of men and consequently, like them, found women a bit inexplicable at times.  
  
I am not a heavy sleeper, unless I am wounded or ill. Oftentimes, noises wake me in the night. Usually, I am able to return to my rest once I ascertain the nature of the noise. So when Lady Arwen bestirred herself the second night away from the river, I came awake instantly. Her gaze flashed silver in the starlight through the tent flap as she looked over at me.  
  
"I apologize, Lady Hethlin, I did not mean to wake you. I feel a desire to be with the stars for a time. By all means, go back to sleep." She gave me a considering glance. "Unless, of course, you wish to join me." I thought about the invitation.  
  
"Give me a moment." She nodded, and I slid out of my bedroll, found my boots, pulled them on, then buckled sword and bow and quiver about me as rapidly as if an alarm had been sounded at Henneth-Annun. Lady Arwen looked at my weaponry as we left the tent, and smiled.  
  
"Is all that truly necessary?" I grimaced.  
  
"I let the Prince get shot, and that happened here in Rohan. I'm not taking any more chances. Better ridiculous and safe than dignified and dead." We walked through the silken tents, speaking very softly. Elves standing sentry did not acknowledge us, their keen eyes fixed on the surrounding terrain.  
  
"You 'let' the Prince get shot? That is not how the Prince tells the story." Lady Arwen's voice was low and melodious as ever, but I heard the amusement in it.  
  
"The Prince is a generous man."  
  
"The Prince is a wise man. If he says you are not at fault, you would do well to believe him." It was not a rebuke, exactly. She lifted her head and looked up at the stars with a small smile. Her midnight hair stirred in the slight night breeze that arose suddenly, as if for that very purpose. "My brother seems more at ease these days. It appears that you have a comforting effect upon him. I would like to thank you for that." I blushed a little bit.  
  
"I was afraid that you might be angry." She laughed softly.  
  
"Angry that you lie with my brother? Hardly. Think you that in near three thousand years, the three of us have had no lovers? You are far less objectionable than a certain ashy-haired wench he took up with in Lorien about four hundred years ago." I had to pause and think about that one for a moment for several reasons--I was astonished to hear the demure Lady Arwen use a word like "wench", she had just admitted she was anything but a maiden, and she apparently found me to be a nicer person, mortal that I was, than at least one elf.  
  
"Elrohir is rather unhappy about this," I offered tentatively.  
  
"I am well aware of that," Lady Arwen replied gently. "He and Elladan and Father all grieve, and I grieve for them as well."  
  
"Is he worth it?" I asked, for while the King was the most impressive man I knew, it still seemed an incredible sacrifice to make.  
  
"Oh, yes." The answer came promptly and firmly. We walked in silence for some moments.  
  
"How did the two of you fall in love? Didn't you change his diapers?" She lifted her head in a gesture very like her brother's, and her laugh floated almost silently towards the stars.  
  
"I can see where you would get that idea, but I was actually in Lorien when Estel first came to Imladris as a child, and I did not return until he was twenty years old. He says he loved me the first moment he saw me, but for me, it took rather longer. It was not until he came to Lorien near thirty years later, that I knew what he had known for so long--that we were meant to be together. And now, it has been almost another forty years, and finally we are going to be wed." I stopped short in my tracks and looked at her in amazement.  
  
"The King is nearly ninety years old?" She stopped as well, and looked at me with a smile.  
  
"But of course. He is of the purest line of the Dunedain. You are not surprised at Prince Imrahil's vigor, and he is of Southern stock, which has been much adulterated with the blood of other Men. You yourself are of similar lineage to the King, and may reasonably expect twice the span of years that lesser men enjoy." I gave myself a shake.  
  
"I see." Lady Arwen watched me for a moment, then apparently deciding that I was all right, began to walk once more. I fell in beside her.  
  
"You know, my lady, my life would have been so much simpler if my father had just sat me down by the hearth one night and said--'Hethlin, my lass, I left the North because a man was jealous of your mother and myself, not because I did anything wrong, and by the way, your mother is a kinswoman of the Chieftain of the Dunedain, and my family line is despised by them because one of your ancestors sold himself to Angmar and cursed us all, and oh, incidentally, Angmar might come calling one day, don't be too surprised if that happens, and oh yes, I almost forgot to tell you, you can talk to Eagles, watch your manners with them when you do, and you're going to live for one hundred and forty years.' That would have about covered everything I've had to find out the hard way so far."  
  
Lady Arwen's hand clamped over her mouth, and I heard her laughter explode beneath it. Some time passed before she took the hand away from her mouth to wipe her eyes, and look upon me with a decided twinkle in their depths.  
  
"You have my sympathy, Lady Hethlin. I too, have a father who is less than forthcoming at times."  
  
"He has no trouble telling me exactly how he feels." She sobered somewhat, and I threw up my hand in apology. "I'm sorry, my lady. What lies between us is no fault of yours, and I should not trouble you with it."  
  
"Actually, it is rather my fault, Lady Hethlin." I snorted.  
  
"I know you believe that, but I don't. And would you grant me a boon, please?" She gave me a questioning look. "Please stop calling me 'Lady' Hethlin. I keep looking around for who you're really talking to. Besides, it's simply not right that someone like you should be calling me 'Lady'. 'Hethlin' will do very well. Or even 'Heth'." I gave her a tentative smile. "That's what my friends call me. I've also been known to answer to 'Snowsteel' from time to time." A pleased expression came over her face.  
  
"I should not like to usurp Elrohir's name for you--I might get spiders in my bed, or worse! But 'Hethlin' it is--I shall wait a while to call you 'Heth'. I know that mortals are swifter to make friends, but I do not know you well enough yet to call you so--it would be presumptuous on my part." She walked on for a few moments in silence, then spoke once more. "I own, I am somewhat frightened at the prospect of living in Minas Tirith among Men."  
  
"Elrohir tells me that all sorts of folk visit Rivendell, including the Dunedain. Surely you are accustomed to them?"  
  
"Indeed, and have had many years to study how to make them comfortable and tend to their needs. But being the Elven hostess of an Elven stronghold that welcomes Men and Dwarves and other such folk is different than being the Queen of Gondor, surrounded by only Men."  
  
"Oh, I shouldn't worry about that, were I you," I said reassuringly. "We're a callow lot, we mortals." She chuckled softly. "Everyone will fall in love with you because you are so beautiful, and then they'll stay in love with you because you are wise and kind. Besides, the King was raised in your household, but has also spent much of his life among Men. He will understand exactly which things bother you the most, and will know how to help you deal with them."  
  
"Yes, I suppose that Estel will be my greatest help in this," she said, and smiled such a smile as she thought upon her love that she became even more beautiful, were that possible. I looked upon her and sighed, jealous not of her beauty, but of the bond she obviously shared with the King. Seeming to sense my thought, she looked upon me kindly.  
  
"You too will know love one day, Hethlin--I am sure of it."  
  
"I already know what it is to love, lady--I am simply not loved in return."  
  
"The Steward of Gondor?" At my start, she explained, " I have spent much time with the Prince, and I will own I asked about you, because I was curious about the person Estel had picked to be my bodyguard. The Prince was not overly forthcoming, but he did say you had saved his nephew's life, and were in love with him, and that he was betrothed instead to Eowyn of Rohan. And though he did not come out and say it, I came to understand that he would rather have had Faramir betrothed to you."  
  
"He told me as much once," I admitted, "But there was no future in it. Had Faramir ever given a moment's indication that he desired me in that way, I would have fought Eowyn for him tooth and nail. But he never saw me as a woman--I was his companion in arms, a Ranger, a courier, a fletcher, a friend. A good, close friend, as it turns out, and that will have to be enough to content me, I suppose."  
  
"And my brother?" We had made a circuit about the camp, and were drawing near to our own tent at last. My lips curled up in a smile I had never made till after Elrohir and I had spent that first night together on Cerin Amroth.  
  
"Another good friend. And though you say I have comforted him, lady, he has healed me every bit as much in return, and I will be forever grateful for that. You know of the orcs, I take it." She nodded.  
  
"You suffered even as my mother did."  
  
"I don't know that I had as bad a time as she did, but besides being barren, I was afraid that in the unlikely event I should find a man who would love me, I would not be able to bring myself to lie with him. Now, thanks to Elrohir, I know that I will be all right. And that is a very great gift indeed. It almost makes up for the times when he's being provoking!"   
  
We came to the door, and both of us ducked back inside, by unspoken agreement bringing our late night stroll to an end. I could see the flash of Lady Arwen's smile in the darkness.  
  
"He truly is a brat at times, is he not?" She slipped out of the robe she had donned for her walk, and I began removing my arsenal. "I am going to be a very bad sister here, Hethlin, and give you something with which to defend yourself from my brother, since I imagine he knows everything there is to know about you." And as we returned to our bedrolls, and before we settled in to sleep once more at last, she proceeded to quietly tell me three of the most embarrassing, humiliating incidents from his childhood she could think of, all of them pranks that had gone badly for him. I had to bite my pillow to stifle the laughter a couple of times.  
  
"Only to be used in direst necessity of course," she told me with utmost gravity, and I agreed that I would heed her words with equal seriousness.   
  
"It does seem to be the one thing he truly fears. He refuses to tell me anything about Elladan because he says Elladan has many more stories about him that he doesn't want known." This drew yet another chuckle from her, and this one had a decidedly evil edge to it.  
  
"Then perhaps, if you ever have cause to use them, I will be fortunate and Elladan will take the blame!"  
  
We wished each other a good night, and drifted off into dreaming. 


	34. The Windlady

Author's Note: This took longer than I thought it would--that's what I get for bragging! My momentum came to a grinding halt, I had some betaing to do, then this dwarf person hijacked me mid-week. Anyway, I'll never promise something by Tuesday again!  
  
The next morning dawned clear and cooler, with fluffy clouds scudding along high up in the upper airs, and casting moving, dappled shadows over the hills. A strong breeze made all the horses restless, and I had to give Caerith quite the workout before I switched to Fortune and the Prince took his brief ride. The horses certainly seemed to be enjoying the breezy weather, and to my amazement, early in the morning I saw Alagos suddenly explode into the air, all four feet off the ground. He came down twisting and hard, with a jarring thud that almost unseated Elrohir, and certainly rattled his teeth, and the next few moments after that saw my vocabulary of Sindarin invective almost doubled. Elrohir then clapped his heels into Alagos' sides, the first time I'd ever seen an Elf actually kick or hit a horse, and the two of them went charging off, Alagos giving the occasional buck.  
  
There was some refined Elven sniggering going on, and Elladan rode up beside me with a grin.  
  
"Did you never wonder, Snowsteel, why Elrohir borrowed my horse for you, instead of offering you his horse, and taking mine for himself?"  
  
"It had crossed my mind," I admitted. "He did seem to be imposing upon you a bit." Elladan stroked Nimfaun's neck a bit smugly.  
  
"The Rohirrim have a saying, I think--something to the effect of ---'As the rider, so the horse.' Which should tell you all you need to know about Alagos." Nimfaun, who actually seemed to be following the conversation, almost preened. Certainly, he turned his melting eyes upon me as if to say "See? I'm the good horse." I snorted a laugh, and reached out to caress his neck as well.  
  
"Then glad I am to have been riding the White Cloud instead of the Storm." Elladan's eyes followed the figure of his twin, diminishing into the distance.  
  
"Elrohir is the only one Alagos permits to ride him. Which is not surprising, since brother has been riding storms since he was small. And creating them. And looks not to be stopping any time soon." With a little smile and a wink at me, Elladan rejoined his father, grandfather and grandmother.  
  
About a quarter of an hour later, Elrohir returned, having apparently come to some sort of accommodation with Alagos.  
  
"There are wild kine up ahead, Grandfather!" he exclaimed. "A small herd--maybe fifteen beasts. They must have swum across the River in search of better grass. Shall we take one? There would be meat for the next two days at the very least." Lord Celeborn looked thoughtful.  
  
"Are you certain they are not beasts belonging to the Rohirrim? We do not wish to trespass."  
  
"Rohanian cattle do not have horns as wide as a man stands high, Grandfather. And they bear no brands, marks or notches. I have seen the wild kine of the East before--and these are like unto those." After a moment's further deliberation, Lord Celeborn nodded, and Elrohir grinned, and actually whooped, and Alagos reared. The Lord of Lorien gave orders and four other mounted archers joined him. Elladan begged off, so Elrohir gestured to me that I should accompany them as well.  
  
"For a Mumak-slayer, this should be easy, Snowsteel." I unslung my bow from my shoulder and strung it, feeling more than a bit of anticipation. It had been long, and more than long since I'd done any hunting. One of the archers said something in a questioning tone to Elrohir, looking at me, and he responded swiftly and sharply. It seemed my participation was not universally popular.  
  
Riding in single file, we moved out ahead of the rest of the party, and before very long, we could see the kine. My first thought was that if Lord Celeborn had been with Elrohir, he would not have had to ask about them being from the herds of Rohan. No cow I had ever seen stood as high as these, and the span of their horns was truly the width of a tall man, even more in some cases, and this was true of cow and bull alike. Their shoulders were humped, and the hump and their backs were covered with shaggy hair. They were white in color, and they looked ill-tempered and wary. They began to move away from us as they spotted us, slowly at first, then lumbering into a gallop.  
  
We started racing after them, spreading out upon either side to keep them together.  
  
"'Ware the horns!" Elrohir shouted as we galloped together. "They can move faster than they seem, and will swerve and gore your horse if you draw nigh!"  
  
I called back, "Just like a Mumak!" and knocked and drew as I rode, guiding Fortune with my knees. I held my shot in case one of them should attack us, giving Elrohir the honor of the kill. It was truly exhilarating, the pounding of many sets of hooves, the bellows of the beasts and the shouts of the Elves, the feel of Fortune stretching out and truly running between my knees, the wind in my face narrowing my eyes as I watched for a shot. I found a likely victim, a young bull running to the outside of the herd, and gestured with my bow in his direction to Elrohir, indicating that I would cover for him. He shook his head.  
  
"You take him, Snowsteel!" Nodding, I urged Fortune to go even faster, till we drew even with the young bull. In the back of my mind was the worry that I would disappoint Elrohir by not making a clean kill, and embarrass myself in front of the elves. But the habit of years of hunting calmed me, allowing me to concentrate until all the noise went away, and the only thing I was aware of was my target, charging along as if he knew what fate had in store for him. I saw my shot and took it. The arrow flew true, straight into his eye, and I was already pulling Fortune up when his legs dropped out from under him and he flipped head over heels from the force of his speed and fell, stone dead before he stopped moving.  
  
The Elves immediately left off their pursuit of the herd, and rode back to join us. I dismounted, as did Elrohir. The archer who had protested my inclusion in the party gave me a salute with his bow, and grinning, said something in the Silvan tongue.  
  
"He says well-shot," Elrohir interpreted for me, and smiling, I nodded back at him and told him thank-you, for I knew that much of the language after my days in Lorien. The Elves were dismounting, and drawing long knives, when suddenly, there was a darkening of the Sun and a rush of air caused by three stooping pairs of mighty wings. High indeed they must have been, circling unseen in the brightest light of the heavens, till they saw our hunt and came hurtling downward to investigate.  
  
Fortune shied, startled by the plummeting bodies, and before I could grab his reins, galloped away back in the direction of the caravan, which could be seen in the distance. The Elven horses leapt sideways as well, but stayed their ground. One of the archers who was yet mounted knocked and drew, but held his shot when he saw what it was we faced.  
  
The force of her descent not entirely abated, Gwenaur's talons hit the newly-killed bull with a meaty thunk, and her claws sank into the carcass. Two other Eagles, one of them Gwaihir the Windlord, the other a male I'd not yet met, landed upon either side of her. Mantling briefly, they folded their wings, then settled, looking upon me gravely.  
  
"Greetings, nestling," said Gwaenaur solemnly. "My kill is yours." I bowed to the three of them in turn.  
  
"Greetings, Chieftain," I greeted Gwaihir; "Greetings, Windlady," to Gwaenaur; "Greetings, Windlord," to the unknown Eagle. "My kill is yours." Gwaenaur's eyes, glowing amber, almost seemed amused as she looked the situation over.  
  
"So it is indeed. Son of Elrond, if you hurry, you might catch the herd again before they get too far away." Surpressing a strong desire to curse, Elrohir collected all the Elves, who had been watching things unfold with great curiosity, and they mounted, and set off swiftly in pursuit of the kine once more.  
  
"My other son, Landroval," Gwaenaur said after they had gone, introducing the unknown Eagle to me. Landroval regarded me for a moment with the typical, tilted head carriage of an inquisitive Eagle.  
  
"Greetings, Hethlin, daughter of Halaran. You have the look of your sire, and I am very pleased to meet you." His voice was lighter than that of his brother's or even his mother's, and he seemed a more cheerful sort of bird.  
  
"And I you, Lord Landroval, for I know you were my father's good friend."  
  
"I was indeed, and greatly grieved was I to hear of his death. That his daughter has hunted this day heals my heart." I gave him a wry grin.  
  
"Would you not have been happier if his son had been the hunter?" I could see the twinkle of amusement in his huge, yellow eyes.  
  
"Even were that the case, and it is not, I would not admit it when within reach of my mother's beak," and there was a rustle as the three huge birds shifted their weight a little and laughed. Then they sobered.  
  
"Would you be a huntress of the House of the Eagle then, Hethlin daughter of Halaran, and a nestling no longer?" Gwaenaur asked me. The question was very obviously formula, and ritual.  
  
"I would, windlady," I replied, though I had no idea of where this was going, or what I should do. The lady Eagle gave me a kind look.  
  
"Have you a sponsor, Hethlin? It is customary to have one stand with you for this. I know you have no kin, but is there someone else you would have?" I had just started to ponder this question, when there was the light sound of Elven horse hooves upon the chalky ground behind me, and a quiet voice spoke.  
  
"I will stand with her," declared Lord Celeborn. "I have taken it upon me to train her gifts of the mind, so it would seem to fall to me to do this." The three Eagles nodded their heads respectfully, and Gwaihir spoke.  
  
"Greetings, Lord of the Galadrim! Never have any of the House of the Eagle had such a sponsor before! But it is fitting, because of the long friendship between your people and ours--and perhaps a sign that better times are ahead, for Hethlin's House and for us all." Lord Celeborn dismounted, and came up behind me, and laid his long, slender hands upon my shoulders. His voice sounded tranquilly at my ear.  
  
"I certainly hope so--otherwise, we have all been through a very great deal of bother for nothing." Once again, the rustling of feather upon feather as the Eagles laughed, then Gwaenaur addressed me in a most formal manner.  
  
"Many, many years ago as wingless ones count such things, a Man of your house beseeched our aid, and promised his in return. Wing and eye, hand and foot; since that time, both Dunedan and Eagle have benefited from this promise. Our eyes have seen far for you, our wings brought news and succor against all hope. Your feet have traveled for us where we might not, and your hands brought aid and healing, making for us what we might not make for ourselves. Your swords and bows have defended our nests, eggs and nestlings, and with our beaks and talons, we have guarded your young. Is it your desire now to renew that pact, to leave the nest and fledge as a huntress of the House of the Eagle?"  
  
"It is," I said quietly.  
  
"And have you a kill for us, slain by your own hand?"  
  
"I do." I indicated the carcass upon which she stood. "This bull, slain by one of my arrows. May it lend your wings strength, and your nestlings health and growth." Fortunately, that strange memory of what and when to say had finally begun to work for me again. Gwaenaur stepped back and off of the bull.  
  
"Then give of your kill to us." I drew my knife, and stooped, and carved a sizable chunk from the bull's haunch, skin and all, and proffered the dripping mass to her in my two hands. A trickle of still-warm blood ran down my forearm, into the padding of my gambeson. Gwaenaur leaned far forward, and her huge beak snapped up my offering carefully. She swallowed it in one gulp, and declared, "Your kill is ours."  
  
"My kill is yours," my inner guide prompted me to say, and I watched as her great, shearing beak dipped delicately into the bloody wound my knife had left, and worried at the carcass briefly. She lifted her head, and something made me hold my hands out. A relatively tiny piece of the meat, large enough to cover my palm, was dropped into them. I knew what was expected of me, and tried not to gag as I consumed the bloody piece. Swallowing hard a couple of times, I accomplished the task, and said what came next.  
  
"Your kill is mine."  
  
"Our kill is yours." Gwaenaur looked briefly at her two sons, then spoke again.  
  
"Let Manwe, Lord of the Air, bear witness--we, the Eagles of the Hithaeglir, accept Hethlin, daughter of Halaran of the House of the Eagle as a huntress among us, renewing the bond between our Houses made in ages past. May her sword and bow guard and provide for us, may her hands heal us, may her feet go for us where we may not go. May our eyes be her eyes, our wings her messengers, and may our talons take vengeance upon those who would harm her and her own." My inner prompting bade me speak once more.  
  
"I, Hethlin, daughter of Halaran of the House of the Eagle do swear to this oath as a huntress. May both our Houses prosper by this promise, that we may do good and not harm to each other. May Manwe, Lord of Air, bear witness to my words as well."  
  
Gwaihir and Landroval looked upon their mother expectantly, and Gwaenaur leapt upon the carcass again, and loomed over me. I felt Lord Celeborn suddenly raise his hands to my shoulders once more, and grip tightly. Then that huge beak, which could have severed my neck as easily as I plucked the stem of a flower, lowered until the tip pressed the skin just above and between my brows. There was a careful, steadily increasing pressure, and then sharp pain as the flesh parted beneath it. I felt blood begin to trickle down my nose. Then Gwaenaur stepped back.  
  
"She is blooded," she declared  
  
"It is accomplished," the two males responded, then all three of them spread their wings, and let forth a loud cry. When that was over, Gwaenaur hopped over the bull, causing Lord Celeborn and I to back up hurriedly, then began waddling away from the carcass. We fell in beside her, and I tried to ignore the wet, tearing sounds as Gwaihir and Landroval began dismembering it.  
  
"That went very well," she commented. "I had feared that we had seen the last of your House when Gwaihir brought me the news of your family's demise. It is good that it is not so. Your kill was truly impressive, and your sponsor more so. That a female should take oath so featly is very pleasing. Males can be arrogant and inconsiderate--it behooves us to remind them from time to time of where the eggs come from." Lord Celeborn raised his eyebrows at this, and I couldn't help but grin a little bit, as I carefully wiped the blood trickling down my face with a handkerchief I'd pulled from my belt pouch. Apparently, females of any sort had much the same complaints about their males.   
  
Pausing to take up the reins of his Elven horse, who had waited patiently as he stood up with me for the ceremony, the Lord of the Galadrim resumed walking with us once more. A silvery mare, she seemed not overmuch bothered by Gwaenaur's presence and followed him docilely.  
  
"It would appear that we have company," he noted. The Prince was riding slowly towards us upon Nimfaun, while the Lady Arwen rode her own horse close to his side.  
  
"We saw the Eagles come, Hethlin," he said, a look of concern crossing his face, as he spied the blood. "Are you all right?"  
  
"'Twas a ritual, Imrahil," Lord Celeborn said soothingly. "A rite of passage. Hethlin is now an adult to the Eagles. If you will excuse me--fair air to you Windlady, to you and your kin." He inclined his head once more to Gwaenaur, who did the same to him, then swung back up onto his quiet mare and headed back towards the others. The Prince's face had cleared at his explanation, though he was clutching the saddlebow tightly. He had already had his daily exercise, and this was a strain for him.  
  
"Oh. I see. Congratulations, Hethlin." He looked intently at Gwaenaur. "And is this..."  
  
"....the Eagle who bore you to Lothlorien? Aye, my lord, this is the Windlady Gwaenaur. She is the mother of Lord Gwaihir and Lord Landroval. You already know them, do you not?"  
  
"I certainly do--I met them at the Morannon." He bowed as deeply as he could manage in the saddle to Gwaenaur. "But it was this lady I came to see, to tender my thanks for her efforts on my behalf recently." Gwaenaur inclined her head graciously.  
  
"You look rather better than when I last saw you, my lord prince. Indeed, I had little expectation of ever seeing you again, much less upright and looking as well as you do."  
  
"I take no credit for that, windlady--it was your delivery of me to Lorien and the wondrous healing skills of Lord Elrond that made it possible."  
  
"Lord Elrond is indeed talented--he has come among our people a time or two, when we had need of him." That was news to me. I contemplated the possibility of having to fetch Lord Elrond to a sick Eagle--traveling alone in the Wild in his company, getting to know him better....my stomach, already uneasy from the raw meat, roiled a bit.  
  
"No matter how greatly skilled he was, had you not closed the distance between us, his abilities would have gone for naught. And for that, I thank you once again, lady," said the Prince with a smile. "I only wish I had been in a condition to do so at the time." Gwaenaur seemed thoroughly charmed.  
  
"You and Gwaihir were right, Hethlin," she said to me, "The Swan Lord is a very mannerly man." She gave Imrahil a searching examination, twisting her head around every which way. He suffered this with a small, questioning smile upon his face, which turned to surprise when she finished her survey, and asked him, "Have you a nest, my lord prince, and a mate?"  
  
"I have a nest by the sea, which I am informed is one of the nicer ones in Gondor, windlady," he replied smoothly. "But no mate. My lady died many years ago. I have four fine nestlings though, and one of them has nested and has a nestling of his own." She nodded.  
  
"I too have nestlings who have nested. It is a great joy, is it not? All of the pleasure, none of the continual hunting and feeding." The Prince allowed that he had found that to be the case as well. Gwaenaur fluffed her feathers a bit, and gave herself a shake.  
  
"We mate only once, as do the Elder kindred, but I have heard that such is not the case with Men."  
  
"No, windlady, a Man may mate again, if his mate should die, and this is true of our females as well."  
  
"You seem a man in need of a mate to me, Prince," declared Gwaenaur. Imrahil coughed slightly. "And though your nest is far from the Hithaeglir, you have a good grasp of manners and the proper way things are done. Your nestlings are undoubtedly well-spoken as well." He owned that this was so. "I recommend Hethlin to you. She is a competent hunter, and young and strong. Your nest would be filled again in no time." The Prince gave me a swift, sympathetic look, and I reminded myself that the Eagles were unaware of my barreness..   
  
"I believe it is Hethlin's desire to fly free for a time before she nests," he said evenly. "I understand that this must be worrisome for you, as she is the last of her House. But is it not said that the egg will hatch only in the fullness of time?"  
  
"Indeed, it is so said, Swan Lord. You are wise as well as mannerly. Hethlin," and she was addressing me suddenly. "You could do far worse than the Prince. You have kept far worse company already."  
  
"Surely you do not speak of the Prince Elrohir?" inquired Imrahil with an air of gentle concern that was just a bit too perfect to be believable. I gave him a glancing glare, and saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Fortunately, Gwaenaur seemed oblivious to such fine nuances--perhaps she found our faces as hard to read as we found hers.  
  
"No, I speak of his brother, the Despoiler of one of our chieftains, Prince Elladan."  
  
If the Prince was disappointed, he hid it well. "Of course, I should have known. In any event, I do thank you for the kind words--and the recommendation, Windlady. And I shall certainly take it under advisement." Again, that twitch of the mouth, and twinkle in the eye. Though I could tell from his stiff posture in the saddle and a certain taut quality to his face that Imrahil was fading fast, he was nonetheless enjoying himself greatly at my expense.  
  
His weariness did not go unnoticed by the Lady Arwen. Laying a hand upon his arm, she spoke for the first time since their arrival.  
  
"Imrahil, I think you should go back now. Father will be most angry with me if I let you tire yourself too much." He sighed, and nodded.  
  
"Yes, I believe you may be right, my lady." He bowed to Gwaenaur again. "I have enjoyed our talk, my lady, and I sorrow that I will probably not have an opportunity to converse with you again any time soon. My nest is far from your nests." Gwaenaur nodded back respectfully, then shrugged her wings.  
  
"The upper airs blow many places, Swan Lord. Who is to say where they may carry one on any given day? I have enjoyed having speech with you as well." The Prince looked over in the direction of the feasting Eagles.  
  
"Please give my respects to your sons. I would do so were I able." Gwaenaur swiveled her head, looked at the Windlord and his brother and gave her beak an irritated clack.  
  
"I shall see that the greedy louts greet you in person, Swan Lord. And they had better have left some for me." With that, she turned and made her way back to what was left of the bull with a quick hop into the air and one hard wingbeat. I fell in on the other side of the Prince from Lady Arwen, in case he should start to slide from the saddle, and began escorting him back to the party, which was waiting for the return of the hunters.   
  
"'The egg will hatch only in the fullness of time'? 'My nestling has nested and has a nestling of his own'? How do you come up with all this....talk?" I asked the Prince, still a bit annoyed. He chuckled.  
  
"Remember, Hethlin, I have met and spoken with Gwaihir and Landroval before, and know something of the manner of their speech. And I have always had a talent for mimicry--I will spare you the tale of my attempt to run away with a traveling troupe of players when I was fourteen." Lady Arwen's laugh pealed out, and I gave him an astonished look. Though his voice had become very dry of a sudden, he was grinning. "But I in turn have to ask how it is a child of the House of the Eagle has not heard of the egg and the manner of its hatching? Such a deficiency in your education is truly shocking." I just shook my head resignedly.  
  
"There is no doing anything with you when you are like this, my lord. I know you well enough by now to realize that. I will be generous and blame your mood on giddiness because you are ill. Besides--my father never told me anything!" He chuckled again, and I looked at him curiously.  
  
"Why did you want to be a player, my lord?" He leaned a little more heavily upon the pommel of the saddle and sighed.  
  
"Have you never seen a play, Hethlin?"  
  
"No, my lord. There wasn't a lot of entertainment to be had where I grew up."  
  
"Well if you had, you would know that wizards aren't the only ones who can work magic." I thought this over, but couldn't quite make out what he meant by it.  
  
"But you were going to be the Prince!" He looked a bit wistful for a moment.  
  
"Ah, but if I'd been a player, I could have been the Prince and everyone else besides." We had come up to the horse litter, and I stood ready to give him an arm if he needed it. Arwen dismounted, ready to assist as well.  
  
"What did your father do to you?" Nimfaun sank gracefully to the ground, I put a hand to his elbow, and aided him in stepping away from the Elven horse, whereupon Nimfaun rose, and trotted gracefully over to his master. Leaning on me a bit, the Prince sat upon the edge of the litter and swung himself into it.  
  
"Dragged me back to Dol Amroth by the ear, of course, and spent the next year keeping a close watch upon me, and subjecting me to gentle lectures about position and responsibility. It was five years after that before he'd let a troupe play at the castle again."  
  
"Before I was born, my brothers, it is said, tried to run away and join the Rangers when they were youngsters," Lady Arwen offered with a smile. "Of course, Glorfindel swiftly retrieved them, but even had he not, the Rangers would have brought them right back. They had troubles enough of their own without trying to deal with my brothers. Elladan and Elrohir were most upset at being apprehended." The Prince lay back against his pillows gratefully, and closed his eyes for a moment.  
  
"I was certainly inconsolable for a long time. Though as it turned out, my gifts were not entirely wasted--in the last twenty years of sparring with Lord Denethor and the Council, I've turned in some great performances." Lady Arwen patted his hand.  
  
"I wish I could have seen them."  
  
"You will undoubtedly have a chance to observe future ones," he remarked, his eyes still closed. "Though the King and I have been of one mind about most issues so far, I am sure the time will come when I will have cause to try to sway his opinion about something I feel strongly about. It is a challenge I'm looking forward to." Lady Arwen's eyebrow arched at this admission of a possible future attempt to manipulate her betrothed.  
  
"Doesn't Father usually give you a particularly noxious tonic this time of day, my lord Prince?" she inquired sweetly. The Prince groaned.  
  
"Lady, your memory is entirely too keen."  
  
"I will fetch it for you now." She walked off towards where her father stood beside his horse.  
  
"Do not feel you must hasten back with it upon my account, lady--I shall willingly suffer a bit longer!" he called after her, and we heard Arwen's laugh echo back to us. He then cracked his eyes open, and crooked a finger at me. I leaned close to him, and he sat back up upon his elbow, and reached a hand up to my forehead, carefully brushing the hair back from the wound. He frowned as he peered at it.  
  
"Lady Arwen is a good healer in her own right, Hethlin. I know that this has ritual significance, but see that you have her or Elladan clean it for you. No offense to the windlady Gwaenaur, but beaks and teeth are often filthy things."  
  
"I will do that, my lord." He closed his hand, and his knuckles stroked my cheek softly once as he dropped it.  
  
"That's good. You'd best run along and find out what happened to Prince Elrohir. It would seem you kept the luck of the hunt with you." I sketched him a bow, and did as he bade me. The Windlord and his brother made a short flight over to the caravan to speak to the Prince as I left.   
  
As it turned out, Elrohir had in fact had a successful hunt, and we traveled no more that day, camping where we halted and eating fresh meat that evening, cooked with some precious firewood that we had packed with us, and some other combustibles common to an area where Rohan ran its herds. Gwaenaur and her sons wished me a friendly goodbye, and as they flew off, she let me see through her eyes and feel the sensation of the country dropping away beneath her wings, and the wash of the wind, and how it felt to fly. When I met Lord Celeborn for my lesson after supper, I thanked him for his assistance in the ritual that day, and he smiled quietly.  
  
"The Eagles have long been our friends as well, child. Glad I was to be able to do some small thing to assist them, and you. Though for your sake, I wish your father had been present this day."  
  
"As do I, sir," I said, blinking a little. "But perhaps he was watching."  
  
"I would not be surprised if he were," agreed Lord Celeborn, then began my lesson with a meditation so I could calm myself.  
  
Prince Imrahil sought his bed early that evening, for he had quite exhausted himself, but I sat up for a time, listening to the Elves trade hunting stories. And when I finally did seek my rest, I dreamed, and in my dreams I had wings. 


	35. Edoras

The next seven days of travel passed without incident. We saw no more kine or Eagles, or indeed, much of anything at all. Word was going out slowly it seemed, that the War was over, and the Rohirrim were taking their time sending their herds back out into their eastern lands. The last three of those days were spent traveling through a soaking rain, which was needed, judging from the condition of the grass, but which slowed our progress somewhat, and made tempers, even amongst the serene Elves, a little short. Their appreciation of and communion with nature did not make them inclined to appreciate soggy bedrolls and cold meals any more than I did, and I was a Ranger, long inured to the fact that Weather Happens.  
  
The routine we had begun continued. The Prince kept on walking and riding and gaining strength, and I continued my lessons in horsemanship with him. He caught a cold, but was otherwise pleased with my progress, as was the Lord Celeborn, who was still training my mind gifts, and was unruffled even when his lovely robes were mud-spattered. Elladan and Elrohir gave me brief sword lessons in the morning and evening, and though Lord Elrond sometimes looked as if he'd like to plant a sword in my heart, and drop me in a ditch somewhere, in speech to me he was never aught but civil.  
  
The seventh night found us camped a little bit away from the fords of the Entwash. Elrohir and I had scouted ahead, and found the river risen, but the fords still passable, and we returned as dusk fell to report this. Over supper, it was decided to brave the Entwade the next morning, though there was some concern over the horse litter. The Prince then declared that he would ride across, and I told him that if he wished to do so then he could ride Fortune and I would ride Caerith across, for I did not want the grey to indulge himself and roll while the Prince was on his back. The Prince laughed at what he termed my 'masterfulness', started coughing and went to bed early. Lord Elrond, who had a small spirit lamp in his tent, warmed some noxious brews for him, and administered them despite some cleverly worded, diplomatic protestations. We heard no further coughing, or indeed any noise at all from the Lord of Dol Amroth that night.  
  
The next morning, the rain had stopped, but the sky was still grey, and there was no friendly Sun to dry our garments or tents, so we squished somewhat as we packed. The Prince's symptoms seemed much abated by whatever Lord Elrond had given him, but he stayed in the litter at the Elf-lord's insistence, until we reached the ford itself. The water had risen up to the horses' bellies, so everyone pulled their feet up so as to keep their boots dry. My feet got rather wet in the end anyway, since I had to drop my legs to pummel Caerith's ribs as we neared the far side, and I once again contemplated murdering the Prince's favorite war horse. When we got safely across, he took a look at my boots, winced, and traded mounts with me as swiftly as possible.  
  
"You should get back in the litter, sir," I told him. He shook his head.  
  
"I have not had my morning ride yet, Hethlin." Caerith, overjoyed at having his proper master astride him, was dancing in place. Sighing in capitulation, I rode forward, the Prince at my side.  
  
The murmur of the Entwade had scarce faded behind us when it was replaced by the thunder of many hooves. The Prince spoke quickly to the Elven lords and ladies, and the caravan came to a halt as a Rohirric patrol galloped up and drew rein, spears lowered. Imrahil reached into his saddlebags and drew forth King Eomer's parchment, then gestured me to ride forward with him, hand up in token of peace. As the two of us approached, a man who had a horsetail on his helm not unlike Eomer's, though his was chestnut, suddenly barked a command, and the spears were raised.  
  
Prince Imrahil smiled suddenly, and held out his arm, and the captain rode forward and clasped it, speaking Westron with a sonorous Rohirric accent.  
  
"Prince Imrahil. The King sent out word that you might be returning this way."  
  
"Captain Freowald. It's good to see you again."  
  
"And you, sir. It was said you would be in the company of a Gondorian courier and a couple of elves." He surveyed the company, and I could sense eyebrows raising beneath the elaborate runic chasing that surrounded the brow of his helm. "Your elves seem to have multiplied." The Prince chuckled.  
  
"I bring into the Mark such guests as have not graced it in many a year. The Lady Arwen of Imladris rides to Minas Tirith to wed the King Elessar. With her is her father, Lord Elrond of Imladris, and her brothers, the Lords Elladan and Elrohir. Her grandparents, the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of the Golden Wood also ride with us, as do such members of both households who wish to attend the ceremony." Captain Freowald cast an assessing glance over the elegant legends who walked the fields of his homeland, and his eyes widened somewhat. I had noticed that the Lady Galadriel could seem majestic or mild as suited her mood, and both she and Lord Celeborn looked somewhat innocuous at the moment. Lord Glorfindel, on the other hand, seemed unable to appear other than tall, glowing and glorious. He truly looked as if he could eat Balrogs, or a troop of Riders for that matter, for breakfast. Then there was Lord Elrond, severely magnificent, his handsome duplicate sons, and Arwen, incredibly lovely even on a grey and unlovely day.  
  
"King Elessar is to wed? This is great news indeed! Is it your intention to pass through Edoras on your way to Minas Tirith, my lord?" the captain asked.  
  
"Yes, we thought we might pay King Eomer a brief visit along the way. I doubt he will be able to leave Edoras to go to the wedding itself after so recently returning, and the Lady Arwen had expressed a wish to meet him," the Prince said mildly. The captain nodded, a bit stunned it seemed. His eyes kept straying in Arwen's direction.  
  
"Indeed, he has been much closeted with his advisors, and that does not look to end any time soon. I am sure he would be grateful for the diversion." With that, Captain Freowald seemed to come to himself of a sudden, and turned his horse, uttering a swift spate of Rohirric to the Riders behind him. One of them immediately wheeled his horse, and urged it into a gallop, heading westward.  
  
"I have sent word back to Edoras of your arrival," the captain told us somewhat unnecessarily. "And you will find a warm welcome when you come there. Had you any trouble on your journey to the Golden Wood, or back?"  
  
"We met a mixed troop of Uruk-hai and Mordor orcs on the Wold, twenty in number, hard by Fangorn on our outward journey. They died," said Prince Imrahil matter-of-factly. Captain Freowald grinned.  
  
"Then you have done the Mark a service, for I have been sent to ride out that way in search of just such a party. Perhaps I'll have a peaceful patrol after all." The Prince shrugged.  
  
"Perhaps, and perhaps not. We do not know if we killed all of them. Apparently there are some caves beneath the Wold in which they were lairing. You may run into trouble yet, Captain." It was the Captain's turn to shrug.  
  
"I'll take whatever fortune I may find, my lord Prince. And if I should find a fight....." he grinned, and I groaned inwardly. The Rohirrim were battle-happy to a man it seemed. "May you journey to Edoras be swift and smooth."  
  
"And your patrol as well, Freowald," Imrahil replied. The two of them clasped hands once more, then Captain Freowald returned to his troop and they cantered off in the direction of the Entwade, lifting their spears in salute as they went.  
  
We returned to the caravan, and Lord Elrond promptly commanded the Prince back into the litter, where he was ordered to remain for the rest of the day. He protested somewhat, but I suspected it was more for form's sake than because he truly wished to keep riding. Lord Elrond again administered his cold remedies, and the Prince slept much of the afternoon away. I missed my horsemanship lesson, for which he apologized at dinner, but he was obviously feeling much better, and was quite his usual witty and personable self over the evening meal. Staying up rather later than had been his wont thus far, he exchanged stories with the Elves until I finally gave up and went to bed, and fell asleep listening to the rise and fall of his well-trained voice.  
  
  
The next day, the sun came out at last, and we enjoyed three days of fair weather as we traveled to Edoras. We encountered a couple of patrols headed outward as we journeyed, but they merely saluted us without stopping--word had apparently been spread. The inhabitants of the scattered farmsteads we passed watched us warily, some of them from hiding. The legends of the Golden Wood spoke of it as a home of dangerous enchanters or worse, and the farm folk were not eager to draw our attention.  
  
On the evening of the third day, we came around a spur of the White Mountains, and saw Edoras upon a hill at the base of the spur. It was a walled city, as was Minas Tirith, but with a single wall only, a great dike around it and a thorny fence surmounting the wall. A rutted track wound its way up to the city, fording the river, and passing between two rows of mounds, covered with white flowers. As I rode Caerith beside the Prince's litter, he explained that the mounds were the barrows of the Kings of the Mark, and he named the names of the first line of Kings upon the right side, starting with Eorl and ending with Helm, then the second line of kings upon the left, starting with Frealaf, and ending with Thengel.  
  
"It is there that they will barrow Theoden King when he is brought home to the land of his fathers," explained the Prince. "Eomer is Theoden's sister's son, so he will be the first of the third line of Rohirric kings."  
  
At length we came to the gates of the city, which were manned by many men wearing the white and green of the Mark. Two stepped forward, their spears at the ready, and the others sprang up alertly as well.  
  
"Who is it who comes to Edoras with the setting of the sun? Declare yourselves and your errand," they demanded in the Common Tongue. Prince Imrahil swung carefully out of the litter, and walked forward.  
  
"I am Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, and with me rides the Lady Arwen of Imladris, bride of the King Elessar of Gondor and Arnor, and her household." The spears were immediately lowered, and the tall men smiled.  
  
"You are welcome, lord prince, as are those who accompany you, and are expected by Eomer King. You may leave your good beasts here--we will tend them well. Come within the walls--night is falling, but we have fire and food and drink awaiting you. The King thought that you would arrive this evening." My lord bowed.  
  
"The hospitality of the Mark is legendary."   
  
Lord Elrond spoke to the Elves accompanying us, and all dismounted, the riders of the Elven horses speaking to them in low voices. Saddlebags and other necessities were removed from saddles and pack trees. The gates of Edoras were opened to us, and two of the guard preceded us. We found ourselves upon a broad path paved with flagstones, winding upward to the crown of the hill, upon which sat a great hall with a golden roof. I moved to the Prince's left hand, lest he falter upon the trip upward, for the path was steep. Lord Elrond was at his other hand, his daughter at his side. Behind us came Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, flanked by their grandsons, then Glorfindel and the remainder of the elves, some of them carrying fairly large bundles.  
  
A small stream flowed in a channel beside the path, chuckling as it tumbled down the hill, and I could hear the elves behind me commenting upon it in their sweet voices. Wooden houses with intricately carved eaves rose upon either side of the path. Any late-playing children were whisked inside as we passed, and I could spy faces in many of the windows and doors, regarding us as we made our way upward. There were stairs in places, and though they were broad and shallow, they nonetheless caused the Prince some difficulty. Halfway up the hill, I slipped my arm under his elbow, and he looked over at me with a smile of rueful thanks. Lord Elrond, I noticed, was watching him carefully.  
  
Finally, we reached the crest of the hill, and found a green grassy terrace. There, the spring issued forth from a stone horse's head, and fell into a basin before it began its journey down the hill. The hall known as Meduseld stood upon a great stone platform, and a broad flight of steps led up to it. There were stone seats upon either side of the stairhead, and two very tall guards with drawn swords laid across their knees sat in them. The Prince looked up the stairs, and sighed quietly.   
  
"Let us ascend, Hethlin," he said somewhat dryly, and we started upward. He made it all the way to the top with my help, though he was leaning rather heavily upon me by the time we got there. Our escort spoke to the guards in Rohirric, and they stood, bowed respectfully, and turned the hilts of their swords toward us in token of welcome. One of them spoke to us politely in Westron.  
  
"Our custom it was in time of war to bid all who entered Edoras to leave their weapons without the door. But Eomer King expects you, and names you friends and allies, and declares that you may carry arms within his hall. Please enter--the King is within, and awaits you." With that, he turned to his fellow, and they pushed open the huge, intricately carved doors.  
  
The hall within was rich and magnificent, but in a way far different from the courts of Minas Tirith. There was less stone, and more brilliant color. Intricately carved pillars held up the high roof, and the floor was paved with many colored paving stones, which were also carved in curling, complicated designs--and there were runes in the designs, I thought. I wondered what they meant. Beautiful tapestries hung upon the walls, and in the flickering light of torches lit against the coming dark, the woven figures seemed almost to move. A series of narrow windows high up under the eaves, and the louvered opening of a hearth that stood cold in the center of the hall, showed the purpling blue of the evening sky.  
  
On the southern end of the hall, opposite the doors, was a dais with three steps, and upon the dais was a golden throne, and upon the golden throne was King Eomer, looking rather golden and magnificent himself. A golden circlet with a single white diamond confined his flowing locks, and he was wearing a beautiful deep green tunic, broidered all about the neck and hem and sleeves with a design of running horses, cunningly picked out in gilt threads. A belt of gilded leather spanned his narrow waist and a collar of linked gold plaques, enameled with Rohan's White Horse on Green, and studded with amber and emeralds, rested upon his shoulders.  
  
At his side, in a smaller chair, sat Eowyn, clad in white as was her habit, and her gown too had the gilt horses upon it, and she had a golden girdle of plaques that matched her brother's collar. She looked upon the horde of elves in some amazement, then smiled happily when she saw me, and I smiled back. Eomer's advisors stood ranged behind him on the dais--some of them young men, a few with varying amounts of silver in their golden hair. The Marshall of the Riders was there, and I smiled at him as well, remembering him from Minas Tirith. He nodded a polite acknowledgment.  
  
I had seen Eomer in kingly guise once before, in Aragorn's court, and he had been impressive then, but he was even more so now, in his own place. He and the great hall suited each other, completed each other in some way. He rose, and came down the steps to greet us as we came forward, and I could tell the exact moment when he got a good look at the Lady Arwen's face, for his confident stride faltered for a moment, and his eyes went wide as a boy's. But he recovered himself quickly enough, and greeted us with that blazing smile of his.  
  
"Welcome to Edoras, my lords and ladies! Prince Imrahil, please name to me these notables who grace my hall." The Prince nodded.  
  
"King Eomer, I present to you Lord Elrond of Imladris, and his daughter, the Lady Arwen of Imladris. She is King Elessar's betrothed." Eomer grasped Lord Elrond's arm in a forthright warrior's clasp, which I suspect startled him slightly. It was always hard to tell with him, but his eyebrow did shoot up.  
  
"Even my folk have legends about the wisdom of the Lord of Imladris. Welcome to my hall, Lord Elrond." Lord Elrond inclined his head graciously. Eomer released him, and turned his attention to Arwen, whose hand he took much more gently.  
  
"Aragorn I count as my beloved brother, lady, and it gladdens my heart to know that I now have such a lovely sister. Would that I could attend your wedding," and that was said so fervently that I almost laughed, "but I fear that my own realm is somewhat unsettled still, and requires my attention." Arwen smiled her lovely, serene smile.  
  
"Estel wrote me of what a valiant warrior you were, my lord, but he neglected to tell me of how courteous and well-spoken you are." Eomer flushed slightly under her regard.  
  
"Thank you, my lady." I saw the Prince's lips twitch momentarily, and then he ushered Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel forward.  
  
"The Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lorien. The Lords Elladan and Elrohir you already know."  
  
"Indeed," said Eomer, giving them a polite nod. He seemed much more confident about confronting them here in his own palace. The twins flashed identical grins. Lord Celeborn reached for Eomer's arm even as the King reached for his, and I thought I saw a look of surprise flash across Eomer's face at the strength of that slender limb.  
  
"We are neighbors, Lord of the Mark, though it be from afar," Lord Celeborn said in his quiet way, "I am very glad to meet you."  
  
"And I you, my lord," Eomer replied readily enough, though something in his expression led me to believe that he might be having a moment such as I'd experienced once or twice, where the enormous age and experience of the Elf you were casually speaking to suddenly became apparent. But he was nothing if not bold, and he hesitated not in the least as he turned to the Lady Galadriel and took her hand in his.  
  
"My people also have legends about the beauty of the Lady of the Golden Wood," he said, diplomatically leaving out the fact that most of those legends painted her as a witch or evil sorceress. Lady Galadriel's eyes met his, and they stared at each other silently for a moment. Lord Celeborn glanced at his wife quickly, then looked away. Finally, the lady dropped her eyes, and Eomer shook himself as if he'd been woolgathering. Lady Galadriel smiled the sweetest smile I'd ever seen her make, and her low voice was smooth as honey when she spoke.  
  
"I remember the day your folk rode from the North. We watched the battle from the borders of Lorien, for we feared if the Gondorrim fell, we would have to battle the orcs and Easterlings beneath the boughs of the forest. When Eorl had the victory on the field of Celebrant, we were gladdened as well. You have the look of your forefather about you, and that is fitting--that Rohan should have another young king to lead her into a new age." There was an approving murmur from his councilors, and Eomer himself seemed very moved by this speech, and inclined his head respectfully.  
  
"Thank you, my lady." He was then introduced to Glorfindel, and they made quite the picture when seen together--the glowing, golden elf-lord, and the glowing, golden mortal king. They took to each other right away, and I smiled at the prospect of wargames being played with the food at the high table.  
  
Eomer in his turn introduced first Eowyn, then his councilors to everyone, and as he did so, servants began to file into the hall. In short order trestles, tables and chairs were set up, cloths spread upon the tables, table settings laid, glasses and pitchers of ale and wine made ready and dishes and platters full of roasted meats and other savory food set out. We stood and chatted amongst ourselves as this was done, save for Eowyn, who moved amidst all the activity, issuing quiet orders. I was surprised to notice that though most of the servants did her bidding quickly, one or two seemed resentful or angry, and I wondered what had caused this animosity.   
  
The Prince, usually so sociable, actually withdrew to the edge of the crowd, and I followed him. He had made his way to one of the massive pillars, and was leaning against it, when all the color suddenly drained from his face. Concerned, I took his arm, and could feel his whole body shivering.  
  
"My lord," I murmured quietly, knowing he would not want a fuss made, "are you well?"  
  
"I'm a bit dizzy, Hethlin," he admitted softly. "That climb up the hill.....if I could just sit down for a moment or two, I think I would be all right." I started to suggest that he could probably sit upon the dais stairs or at the table, even though they were still setting it, when his eyes rolled up in his head, and he made a small, protesting noise. He let go of the pillar, and made a blind clutch at my shoulder as he went down, and I went down with him, so as to keep him from harming himself upon the stone floor. We ended up with him sprawled unconscious across my lap, his head cradled safely upon my shoulder.  
  
His collapse could hardly go unnoticed, and quite a hubbub started. I heard Eomer's voice exclaim, "Imrahil!", and then Lord Elrond was there, as if he'd suddenly materialized out of nothing. He stooped and laid hands upon my lord's forehead and throat for a long moment.  
  
"What happened?" he asked me coolly.  
  
"He came over here, and leaned against the pillar. When I asked him what was wrong, he said he felt dizzy, and needed to sit down. Then he fainted. He will be all right, won't he?" I asked beseechingly. The thought of being in fear for his life again was very unpleasant. Lord Elrond's answer, however, was quite calm.  
  
"He has simply overtaxed himself. The walk up the hill.....and he was upon his feet for far too long. I should have insisted these people make some accommodation for him, but he did not want that. Too much bother, he said. He was feeling well enough to go on, he said. A very persuasive man, but I think in the future I shall keep firmly in mind who is the patient and who the healer." I looked up to find Eomer and Eowyn both looking down at us with great concern, as well as a circle of spectators comprised of the elves, the councilors, and the odd servant. It was as well, I thought, that the Prince was not awake--he would not have enjoyed being the center of attention in this way.  
  
"What ails the Prince?" the King of Rohan inquired.  
  
"He suffered a poisoned arrow wound upon the way to Lorien," Lord Elrond replied. "And has yet to fully recover. He has been traveling with us in a horse litter, and did too much this day. He should feel better tomorrow, given rest and quiet. I require a room for him, and the means to bear him there."  
  
"My lord, you already possess the means to bear him whither you would," said Lord Glorfindel, and he stepped forward, knelt, and scooped up the prince as if he were naught but a small child. Lord Elrond smiled at his tall, blonde friend, and Eowyn stepped forward.  
  
"If you will come with me, my lords, I will show you to the room that has been prepared for him," she said, and turned, and led us from the hall through a smaller door at the rear of the dais. We walked down a set of rather steep stairs to a fair, wooden house that stood to the rear of Meduseld. There was a smaller hall within the house, which had two stories, and bedrooms upon the upper level. Glorfindel, seemingly tireless, bore the Prince without complaint up the stairs to a large and pleasant room that Eowyn showed us. It was paneled and floored in wood, the only stone being the hearth upon which an unlit fire was laid. Beautifully woven hangings adorned the walls, and the bed the Lord Glorfindel laid the Prince upon was massive and intricately carved, with a huge feather tick. Candles in sconces upon the walls lit the room, and there was a bronze bell upon a small table beside the bed.  
  
"Ring this if you wish for anything. There are servants here in the house," Eowyn told us.. Lord Elrond nodded his thanks, and checked the pitcher at the washstand to see if it was full.  
  
"My lady, our thanks for your assistance. Glorfindel, would you be so kind as to escort the Lady Eowyn back to her guests? Lady Hethlin and I can manage things from here." Eowyn gave the Prince a last, troubled look, and me a worried smile, then turned to the Elf-lord, and took the arm he proffered her. As they exited, I turned to the Prince and began pulling his boots off. Lord Elrond began unbuckling his sword, and removing his tunic. I hesitated before unfastening his breeches, and Lord Elrond gave me an inquiring look.  
  
"He does not usually allow me to serve him in this way," I explained, and the Lord of Imladris made a noise that sounded very like a snort to me.  
  
"He is hardly in a position to protest now, is he?" The tone of his voice said to me that he thought I was being a silly girl, so I stripped my lord of his breeches and stockings, and helped to tuck him into the bed without further protest.  
  
"What do we do now?" I asked when we had finished arranging him comfortably.  
  
"There is really nothing to do. He is still in the swoon, rather than truly asleep. He may lapse into slumber, or he may wake briefly. If he does so, he should try to eat and drink a little--that was part of his problem as well, I think. That is all that truly needs to be done."  
  
"If that is the case," I said somewhat hesitantly, "why don't you return to the feast, my lord? You are one of the great folk, and should be there. I could sit with him, and coax him to eat if he wakes up. I have no skill in healing, but I could manage that much. And I am his esquire--it is my place to care for him." Lord Elrond gave me a keen-eyed look, then nodded after a moment.  
  
"Indeed. I believe I shall go and eat. I will have the servants bring food up for you, Lady Hethlin, and I will have one of my household bring a cake of lembas and a cordial up for the Prince. Should he awake, give him those things--they will restore him more quickly than any mortal food. If he is still hungry after that, which I very much doubt he will be, he may eat as he chooses. I will return before retiring to look in upon him." I nodded my understanding, and stood and bowed as he left the room.  
  
When the door had closed behind him, I unbuckled my sword belt, removed my helm and shrugged out of my hauberk and gambeson. There was an armor rack in the corner, and I hung them there--the Prince's mail was stowed among the baggage at present, and I didn't think he would mind. Finding one of those carved chairs beside a small table, I pulled it over close to the bed, and settled in. Shortly after that, one of the Imladris elves came in, bearing my saddlebags, the Prince's, a flask, cup and wrapped cake of the lembas. He presented them to me, bowed, and departed without a word. Then a Rohirric servant brought me some supper--a plentiful sampling of what they were eating in the Golden Hall. I had just finished my meal, and was wiping my mouth, when I heard a stirring from the bed beside me. The Prince's glance was moving weakly about the room, and finally came to rest on me.  
  
"Tell me I didn't faint in front of Eomer and everyone, Hethlin," he murmured. I smiled.  
  
"I would sir, but I thought you encouraged your esquires to tell the truth." He groaned, and I chuckled. "You were very polite and quiet about it, if that makes you feel any better."  
  
"It does not."  
  
"Lord Elrond left you some things to eat and drink." He grimaced.  
  
"He would."  
  
"These are nice things, for a change." I assisted him to sit up, and when he had done so, presented him with the lembas on a plate and a cup of the cordial. His hands were still shaky, so I helped him at first, but after he'd had a few sips and mouthfuls, he was able to eat and drink on his own. As usual, he was embarrassed by his helplessness, so I tried to be matter-of-fact as possible. He looked as if he felt much better when he had eaten--remembering the invigorating effect of the lembas Lord Celeborn had given me, I was not surprised. Knowing how much he hated to be untidy, I got his soap out of the saddlebags, poured a basin of water and helped him wash his face and hands, then produced his comb, and set to work upon his hair.  
  
"Hethlin, you do not have to do this," he protested, as I began to work the tangles out. His hair was longer, and far better behaved than his nephew's, which seemed to have a contrary will of its own.  
  
"Who is going to help you with this if not your esquire?" I asked him tartly.  
  
"Lord Elrond will, or Lady Arwen," he replied, though he was beginning to relax beneath my hand.  
  
"And why is Lady Arwen permitted to assist you with such things, and not me?" To my surprise, he looked genuinely taken aback for a moment.  
  
"I suppose there is no difference, at that," he said at last. "Thank you for your help." I had just finished combing it out when a quiet knock came at the door, and it cracked open. Two heads peeked in, one black, one blonde. The Prince smiled.  
  
"Ladies! Do come in!" Lady Arwen and Eowyn both slipped into the room, and Imrahil settled back against his pillows with a pleased look. "It appears that all the fairest flowers are gracing my room tonight. I shall have to swoon more often." Eowyn came forward and embraced him, her cheek against his.  
  
"I was worried for you, uncle. Do tell me that you are feeling better now." He patted her shoulder reassuringly.  
  
"I am much better now, Eowyn--I merely overdid things a bit. Give me a good night's sleep, and I will be ready to look at your lovely horses." Arwen shook her head.  
  
"Father says to tell you that you are staying in bed tomorrow. We remain in Edoras tomorrow, the day after and possibly the day after that, depending upon how you feel." Imrahil looked at her, distraught.  
  
"Lady, I do not wish to make you late for your wedding!" Arwen merely smiled.  
  
"We can afford two, or even three days delay, and still reach Minas Tirith on time. But see that you do as my father says, my lord, so that we do not need more than that." The Prince nodded, somewhat chastened, and Arwen moved to the side of the bed. "Father wishes for you to get a good night's sleep tonight, but as he is engaged in a deep discussion with the King and his advisors, and Grandmother and Grandfather, he asked me to see to it." And before the Prince could protest further, her finger touched his forehead, and his eyes closed immediately. He sighed, and went slack against his pillows.  
Eowyn's eyes widened at this display.  
  
"What manner of sorcery is this?" she asked, looking askance at Lady Arwen. Arwen simply shrugged.  
  
"It is not sorcery or magic at all--merely an innate ability some of us possess," she said matter-of-factly. "Not unlike Hethlin's gift for talking to Eagles. My brothers and I can all do this, as well as Father, of course. It is a part of our healing gift."  
  
"Do not fear, Eowyn," I reassured her. "Elrohir did it to me once, when I could not sleep. The Prince will have a very restful slumber, and when he awakes tomorrow, will be greatly refreshed. Lord Elrond saved my lord's life--he is hardly likely to send his daughter to hurt him now." She nodded, though she did not look entirely convinced.   
  
"Saved his life, you say? Was he so sorely injured then?"  
  
"It was not the wound that was the problem, but the poison. And aye, it was a close call. Though I would ask you not to let him know you know that, or if you do let it slip, that you did not find it out from me!" Eowyn snorted at that, but let her hand stray to the Prince's cheek for a moment, then looked up at Arwen.  
  
"I am very glad your father saved him, my lady, for he is dear to me already, even though we are not yet kin. And if you had a hand in it, then you have my thanks as well." Arwen nodded graciously.  
  
"I did assist my father somewhat, though he did most of it. As I have come to know the Prince, I too have begun to appreciate him. It has given me great pleasure to assist in his recovery." I stood and stretched and yawned at this point.  
  
"Lady Arwen, does your father think the Prince requires any further care tonight?"  
  
"No, Hethlin, he sent me to tell you to seek your rest." She surveyed the empty cup and wrapper on the table. "He will be pleased that you got him to eat." I turned to Eowyn.  
  
"Have I a room, Eowyn? And I know the hour is late, but would it be possible for me to get a bath?" Arwen suddenly looked a bit wistful.  
  
"I would like to bathe as well, though as Hethlin thought of it first, I will bow to her if the hot water is limited." Eowyn laughed.  
  
"Hot water, my lady, is something we have in plenty! I'll see that both of you are taken care of. If you will give me but a moment," she said to Lady Arwen, "Hethlin's room is here by the Prince's. I will settle her, then take you to yours." Arwen nodded, and Eowyn opened the door for me. It was another room not unlike the Prince's, though somewhat smaller, and a door actually led into the other room, which I had not noticed before from the other side.  
  
"Will this serve?" she asked me, as we stepped inside. She closed the door. "I thought you might need to be close at hand should he ask for you. It was a sitting room, but I had a bed moved up. I did not know that he was ill, but surely this will suffice?"  
  
"It is perfect, Eowyn," I assured her. "Far better than I am used to." With the exception of my room at the Citadel, of course. But then, that had been a temporary thing. "Are you all right?" The White Lady in distraught hostess mode was something I had not encountered before.  
  
"There are so many of them, and I wasn't sure what they would eat! Elrohir and Elladan seem to eat as we do, but then they spend much time around Men. I've been very worried. I tried to bring in all the berries and fruit I could find, thinking they would enjoy such things."   
  
"I'm sure the food was fine," I said soothingly. "A few days ago, we were all supping on wild kine. An interesting flavor, but it certainly gave our jaws some exercise! If the food I ate tonight was sent was from the feast, I can tell you that the Elves were not eating it simply to be polite. But you'd better not keep Lady Arwen waiting any longer." She nodded, and looked back over her shoulder as she opened the door.  
  
"Would you care to go riding tomorrow? We could go out and look at the herds. Brother said you could have a horse if you liked."  
  
"I already have a horse." She grinned suddenly.  
  
"Well, if you hope to be a horse breeder, I have news for you--it takes at least two!" I made a decidedly rude gesture at her, and she laughed. "I'm very glad you were able to come to Edoras, Hethlin, and I'm looking forward to showing you my home tomorrow."  
  
"I am looking forward to it as well, Eowyn. Good night."  
  
"Good night." She went out, and I heard her murmuring to Arwen in the hall, then the sound of footsteps moving away. I opened the door to the Prince's room, checked quietly to see that he was sleeping peacefully, and retrieved my saddlebags. Upon my return, I noticed that my other clothes had been brought up to the room in a traveling chest, and that this included the Elven ones. So, when I had finally done with the very hot bath that had been lugged up the stairs for me by a couple of women who looked as if they swung battle-axes in their spare time, I was able to don the Elven nightgown with my usual feeling of pleasure at its softness, and climb into the fluffy feather bed with the gratitude of one who had had a very long day. Perhaps it was just my surroundings, but my dreams that night echoed with the thunder of many hooves. 


	36. The Fields of Rohan

Author's Note--I apologize for the long delay between updates, but I had to get a second job, and the new one I got was really wearing. Between my two jobs, my muse was totally disinclined to cooperate, even if I had had the time to work with her. Fortunately, I have acquired a second, much better, new job.  
  
This chapter was the most difficult of any of them so far, and the only reason you are seeing it as soon as you are is because of extensive hand-holding by Altariel.  
  
  
  
Eowyn could not ride with me the next day until she had seen to breakfast and lunch for her unusual guests. But once they were cared for, and the plans for dinner laid out to her staff, she showed up at the noon hour bearing saddlebags filled with picnic food, and her brother's admonition to go forth and have a good time. The Prince, feeling much recovered after a good night's sleep in an actual bed, gave me a similar command, saying he would not need me that day.   
  
So, giggling like girls considerably younger than we were, we ran to the stables, where Eowyn's feisty Windfola awaited us, as well as a spirited chestnut mare she had selected as my mount, saying that I should give Fortune a rest. I suspected it was not Fortune's well-being that motivated her so much as a desire to give me a demonstration of the superiority of Rohirric horseflesh once and for all, and when I accused her of this, she freely admitted it with a laugh. Her good humor was dampened momentarily when we were served with surly compliance by the stablehand who had prepared our mounts, but she recovered swiftly enough when we were riding over the green fields under the sunlit sky. It was a pleasant early summer day, not too warm, and a light breeze was scudding small, fluffy clouds across the sky.  
  
We let our mounts drift along slowly for quite a while, chatting amiably about this and that until they were well warmed up--then, we raced towards where the herds were grazing that day, whooping and urging our horses to the greatest speed possible. My borrowed mare gave a good accounting of herself, staying even with Windfola despite my greater weight. We raced over the rolling fields, horses and women alike relishing the feel of the wind in our hair, then charged up a long and gradual incline, only to draw rein at the crest.  
  
A broad, shallow valley lay below us, and through it flowed a river of horseflesh. Glossy chestnut and bay hides glinted redly in the sun, the blacks gleamed bluely, the whites and greys and roans glistened like pearls. There were little swirls and eddies of horses that split off from the main group, only to rejoin it again. And as I looked further up the valley, I realized that this was only one of several groups spaced intermittently all the way up to the head of the valley. My mind boggled at the sheer number of horses that must be gathered here. Eowyn looked at the stupefied expression on my face, and grinned widely. Dropping her reins, she threw her arms wide as if to embrace them all.  
  
"Behold!" she proclaimed, "The horses of the Riddermark!"  
  
  
"Which ones do I pick from?" I asked, as we rode down into the valley.  
  
"All of them," was Eowyn's reply. "Brother just said pick a horse. He did not say pick a yearling, or a mare or a stallion. He said you could have whichever one you liked." I was amazed at the King's generosity, and told her so.  
  
"Eomer really likes you, Hethlin, for all that he was making eyes at Lady Arwen last night." She gave me a sidelong glance. "Were you able to find healing in Lorien like you said you might?" I looked at her and grinned.  
  
"Trying to get me married off again, are you? Nay, unfortunately that did not work out as I had hoped it would. Lord Elrond is the person who might be able to do it, and he will not now for he is wroth with me."  
  
"Why is Lord Elrond wroth with you? You have never been aught but polite that I've seen."  
  
"He is wroth because Elrohir and I became lovers in Lorien. And he fears that Elrohir will follow his sister's path, cleave unto me and become mortal." A succession of expressions crossed Eowyn's face; disbelief, disappointment, then curiosity.  
  
"Become mortal? How would he do that? Is he not an elf?"  
  
"Nay, he is a Peredhil, a half-elf, as are his father and brother and sister. They must make a choice--to be as the elves, and go to Valinor, or to become mortal and die, as did Lord Elrond's brother Elros, the first king of Numenor. By cleaving unto Aragorn, the Lady Arwen has chosen to give up her immortality, grow old and die with him." She considered this for some moments, and I could almost follow the tenor of her thought--the Lady Arwen's stunning beauty, her thousands of years of experience, and this most incredible sacrifice she was making for Aragorn. If Eowyn still harbored any romantic notions about the King of Gondor, I suspected they were finally being laid to rest.  
  
"You and Elrohir?" she asked at last. "I guess I was right about that trip to the Beacon Hills being romantic."  
  
"It wasn't so much that it was romantic as that it enabled me to get to know him better. In that way, it did help matters along."  
  
"Will you wed him then? Without his father's blessing?" I shook my head firmly.  
  
"And condemn him to mortality? Nay, I will not. We are good friends, and will remain so."  
  
"But......you are sleeping with him!" She seemed slightly scandalized, and I realized that for all she'd grown up among men, and was a mighty shieldmaiden, she also held to the beliefs of a gently reared maid of her class, who was expected to go a virgin to her wedding bed--or at the least, to wait till the betrothal ceremony had been accomplished.  
  
"Aye, I am. I am the head of my house, by the King's decree," she looked envious for a moment, "and I am barren. That means that no man will ever want to wed me, but I have no intention of living my life alone--or without comfort and pleasure. If you think that makes me some sort of loose woman, I am sorry." Eowyn grimaced.  
  
"No, I didn't mean that! I should know by now that the usual rules don't apply to you. It just took me aback, that is all--that you would sleep with someone you didn't love."  
  
"Well, seeing as the man I love won't have a thing to do with me in that fashion, I really have no choice but to sleep with people I am friends with instead!" I grinned at her to soften the sting of it, and she looked back at me almost apologetically. "Besides, I don't love your brother, and you've been trying to get us together for some time now! Can you honestly tell me you would have been upset if I slept with Eomer?"  
  
"I suppose not," she admitted. "But only because I was thinking that if you bedded him, you would come to appreciate his finer qualities and want to marry him."  
  
"I would have to bed him to see his finer qualities?" I asked, with a bit of a smirk. She laughed.  
  
"That does sound bad, does it not? Perhaps it is as you said in Mundberg--I am getting married, so I want all my friends to be happily married too."  
  
"I do not need to be married to be happy, which is a good thing, given the circumstances." We were approaching the first herd of horses, which looked to be mares with foals, some of them quite new and tiny, at side. They gamboled and frisked in a manner most appealing, and by silent agreement, we both drew rein a little way away, and simply watched for a while.   
  
"What is it like?" Eowyn asked eventually, blushing a little. "To sleep with someone, I mean. I do know a little about what goes on," she added hastily, "No one raised among horse-breeders, and with Eomer for a brother could not know! But I am curious about how it feels.....for the woman." I thought for a moment upon what would be best to say.  
  
"With Elrohir, it is very pleasurable. But then, he has been doing this for a very long time, and he can see into my mind and know if I am enjoying what he is doing. I have never slept with a man, so I cannot tell you if it is different, or if it is, in what way it is different. From things I've heard among the Rangers, I think it can be uncomfortable if a man is only intent upon seeking his own pleasure." I gave her a reassuring smile. "You will not have to worry about that with Faramir, I am sure. He is the gentlest and most considerate of men."  
  
"Have you and he ever....no wait, you said you had not slept with a man. Has he some...practice in such matters? Do you know?" I grinned.  
  
"I have an idea, but that is a question you will have to ask him yourself." She narrowed her eyes at me.  
  
"He won't talk about you either, you know."  
  
"Oh really? What did you ask him?"  
  
"How you came to be with the Rangers. He said that they'd rescued you from a band of orcs, and if I wanted to know anything else, I should ask you, for it was your tale to tell."  
  
"That was considerate of him. Not that you don't know most of it already--I told you the orcs killed my family." She lifted her reins, and we began to make a slow circuit around the herd.  
  
"None of these, I think," I told her, "for I have only been gifted the one horse, and when I get to Dol Amroth, I will not have time to return the foal."  
  
"I do not think Eomer would begrudge you, Hethlin. He certainly will not mind if you take one of the newly bred mares. That is what I would do, were I you."  
  
"Where are they?"  
  
"Further up the valley. The yearlings are next."   
  
"Well, let's have a look at them. I'd like to pick mine before the Prince picks for Lothiriel."  
  
"Eomer has already brought up the best of the two-year-olds for the Prince to look at. He'll show them to him tomorrow. He felt that he had charged the Prince too much for a yearling, but he did not want to admit it." She frowned a little. "What is that about anyway? Why does the Princess need a horse? Her father has plenty, and all she ever cares about is clothes."  
  
"I believe she would like to try her hand at training one."  
  
"Morelike she would like to try her hand at training my brother," Eowyn growled. "I've seen the way she looks at him." I smiled, and smoothed the chestnut's mane.  
  
"She is actually a very good rider-- but you've seen her, so you know that. And she is Faramir's youngest cousin, and he loves her dearly. She is also one of the great ladies of Gondor's nobility, and knows all the customs of the court and everybody of note in it. For all those reasons, I would befriend her, were I you. She could be a very useful person to know--far more so than myself."  
  
"She is naught but a silly girl!"  
  
"You would think so of anyone who looked at your brother, I imagine. And I'll own she may be a bit flighty, but I don't think she's a fool. None of the Prince's children are. She has a good heart. I rather imagine she will be ready to love you for Faramir's sake." Eowyn still looked unimpressed, so I decided to cease speaking of Lothiriel's virtues.  
  
We approached the herd of yearlings, who scattered before us, bucking and rearing and showing off. I got off the chestnut, and handed the reins to Eowyn, who took them with a smile, and watched as I walked into the midst of them. They jumped away from me as I moved forward, but then I halted, simply waiting with my hands at my sides. Eventually, their curiosity won out over fear, and some of them came back over, stretching heads out cautiously. Velvet noses brushed my ears, face, arms and back. I looked about, assessing possible future mounts. One filly, a blue roan with a startling white star in the middle of her black face was particularly bold, and actually suffered me to give her a good scratching between the eyes and under the chin. She pinned her ears back, squealed, and lashed a hind hoof out at a colt who tried to get some attention for himself. Eowyn chuckled.  
  
"She's a feisty one, and she seems to like you." I scratched the underside of her neck, and her chest, and her lips got all loose and wobbly with pleasure. Looking her over, I was not displeased--she was a big-boned, long-legged filly. She would be some time growing up, but when she was mature, it looked as if she might be swift and sure-footed.  
  
"I like her too. She's definitely a possibility." I walked back to the mare, and the filly followed a short way, before one of her fellow yearlings made the mistake of taking a snap at her. A battle ensued, and I had to dodge flying hooves quickly. Swinging back up into the saddle, I made an exaggerated sound of relief, and Eowyn laughed once more.  
  
"Would you like to eat some lunch before we look at the mares?" she asked. "There's a stream nearby, and we could sit in the shade. It should be very pleasant." I agreed that sounded like a good idea, so we rode to a little copse of trees hard by the stream, hobbled our horses, and laid out our lunch. The ride had given us a good appetite, and for a time there was no conversation between us, merely the sounds of chewing and drinking. Eventually, I indicated that I would like a drink, and she passed the skin of ale to me. I took a deep draught, wiped my mouth, and handed it back. Then I asked about the things I had noticed earlier.   
  
"Eowyn, some of the servants yesterday, and that man in the stables this morning, seemed somewhat unfriendly towards you. Are people here angry that you're marrying Faramir? Would they prefer you took a Rohirric husband?" Eowyn looked down at her lap for a moment, and her cheeks flushed a dusky red.  
  
"No, it is not that which upsets them."  
  
"What is it then? If you do not mind my asking." She seemed reluctant to answer for a long moment, but she was not lacking in courage, and eventually she sighed, looked up, and met my eyes.  
  
"When Theoden King rode forth from Edoras, he had to appoint someone to lead the people in his absence. No man would remain behind, so as I was the last available member of the house of Eorl, he charged me with the rulership." I stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending. Then it sank in.  
  
"You were the....I guess it would be the Regent of Rohan?" Eowyn nodded. Before I could think about what I was saying, the words slipped out--"What were you doing on the Pelennor then?" Her eyes went flinty for a moment.  
  
"Destroying the Witch-King, if you recall." I flushed slightly myself.  
  
"That is not what I meant. How was it you came to be there?"  
  
"Theoden King charged me with removing the people to the relative safety of Dunharrow, while the Eorlingas rode to Helm's Deep. He said that any survivors of the battle would return there. I did as he had bade me, and oversaw the evacuation. After the battle, Aragorn arrived at Dunharrow in advance of the army, with his Grey Company, Legolas and Gimli, and the lords Elladan and Elrohir. He spoke of riding the Paths of the Dead in the morning. I tried to dissuade him, but he would have none of it. I asked him to allow me to ride with him, but he refused. The next morning, I begged him not to go one more time, but was forced to watch him ride away to certain death beneath the mountains." Eowyn's face darkened at the memory.  
  
"Theoden King arrived next, with the Riders from Helm's Deep. The site of the muster had been changed to Dunharrow rather than Edoras, as Gandalf had commanded, and the rest of the Riders were waiting for him when he arrived. He spent the night, and rode forth to Mundberg in the morning. Before he left, I begged him to allow me to accompany him, and he refused me as well. So I went to a man of our household, long loyal to Eomer and myself, a good captain of men who had been walking wounded at the Deep, and asked him to watch over the people for me. Then I clad myself as a soldier, and fell in with the company of the Riders, calling myself Dernhelm."  
  
"Did no one notice?"  
  
"Elfhelm the Marshall knew that it was I, I think, but he said naught to anyone. At Edoras, I took Meriadoc up before me, for the king had forbidden him to travel further as well. The rest you know."  
  
I was silent for a long moment, while she watched me like a hawk, with those narrowed eyes. At length, I said, "So the people that are unhappy with you--it is because they feel you deserted them?" She nodded.  
  
"Even so. And I did, in truth, I admit that. But I was desperate, Hethlin, you have no idea how desperate! Aragorn had gone forth to what I believed was certain doom, and my uncle and my brother were riding forth to Mundberg with the flower of Rohan's manhood on what seemed a doomed errand as well. And I, I was to stay at Dunharrow like a good girl, and die out of sight and out of mind!"  
  
"If all were to perish in the end, Eowyn, did it truly matter where you died?" I asked gently.  
  
"Of course it did! I wanted to be with my kin! Did you not once tell me that you wished you had been with your family when the orcs came, even if it had meant you would have been killed too?" I nodded.  
  
"That is true enough."  
  
"I wished to die with the Riders, on the field of battle, not trapped like a rat in a hole, fighting off orcs with a distaff! I am a warrior trained and wished to die as one!"  
  
"But what of the people with whose care you had been entrusted? Did they not deserve warriors to defend them? King Theoden must have trusted you greatly to give you such a charge." Her lips curled up in a bitter smile.  
  
"Trust me greatly? Indeed, he should have--I had only cared for him, trying to stave off Grima's influence, since before I was a woman! But there was no thought of my ability or worthiness when he granted me that post. Do you want to know how it happened, Hethlin, how it was that I was given my oh-so-honorable charge?" Her blue eyes glittered suddenly with unshed tears.   
  
"The King was ready to leave Edoras for Helm's Deep, and he declared Eomer his heir, saying that if both of them were slain, the folk would have to choose a new ruler. Then he said that someone must rule the people he left behind, and asked if any of his men would stay behind. None of the men wished to forego the battle, or be considered recreant, and none of them spoke. So he asked the people who it was that they would have lead them, in whom they put their trust. And his doorwarden, Hama, who later fell at Helm's Deep, told him that the people trusted in the House of Eorl." She dragged her sleeve across her eyes angrily.  
  
"Do you know what Theoden King said then, as I stood hard by, as I had ever stood by, ready to support and care for him? He said 'But Eomer I cannot spare, nor would he stay, and he is the last of that house.' It was Hama who had to remind him that I even existed, and that the people loved me! And it was only then, after he had asked every other one of his men and found them all unwilling to remain behind, that he was only too glad to lay the task upon me. It was no testament to my ability--I was merely convenient!" The pain in her voice told me that this wound was still very recent and unhealed.  
  
"I can see where you might have felt you had the right to disregard a charge given you in such a back-handed way," I said in a tone I thought was sympathetic. Eowyn's eyes went flinty again.  
  
"But?" she inquired, her tears vanishing, and her voice cool of a sudden. I looked at her in puzzlement.  
  
"But what?"  
  
"You do not approve, do you?" Sensing the possibility of peril of some sort, I chose my words carefully.  
  
"I thought you were asking for my understanding, not my approval."  
  
"Can I not have both? You are my friend, are you not?"  
  
"Aye, that I am. But that does not mean I will agree with everything you ever do. Any more than I would expect you to agree with all of my decisions."  
  
Eowyn nodded a grim acknowledgment, then asked, "So, what do you think? Speak truly."  
  
Troubled, I reached for my borrowed mare's bridle, and ran it through my hands.  
  
"What would you have me say, Eowyn? From what little I have seen, your people admire the deeds of the single warrior greatly--you have a tradition of it. But I was trained in Ithilien, and there, when we were patrolling, or setting an ambush, we needed to know that every man was in his ordered place. Many lives could have been lost, had someone decided to go forth and seek glory on their own."  
  
"'Twas not about seeking glory, Hethlin!" Eowyn protested. "I simply wished to die with my brother and uncle!"  
  
"You were ordered to care for the refugees in Dunharrow, though--what of them?"  
  
"The captain I left in charge would have done a far better job than I, had it come to an actual battle. Though I am trained as a warrior, I have had no experience as a commander. And the King had given me full rule--I had the right to appoint another in my stead, even as he had done."  
  
"Even were that so, it was you that the people loved. They would have fought all the more fiercely had you been there, and the Enemy had attacked." The Lady of Rohan grimaced.  
  
"You speak of things that might have come to pass, not of what actually happened."  
  
"That is true enough," I acknowledged. I started to get up, to go to my horse and bridle it, then sat back down.  
  
"Have you spoken of this to Faramir yet?" I asked Eowyn after a moment's long silence. She was watching me somewhat expressionlessly.   
  
"I did, for I wished to be honest with him. I did not want him hearing it from someone else. And in truth, I told him before he ever declared his love for me. Perhaps I hoped to frighten him away." I raised an eyebrow at that admission.  
  
"What did he say?"  
  
"He said that he knew about it, and that it did not matter." I fear I must have gaped at her for a moment.  
  
"He said WHAT?"  
  
"He said that he knew about it, and that it did not matter," Eowyn reiterated tonelessly. The blood pounding in my ears, I continued to stare at her, and realized that I was having an epiphany like unto what she had had but moments before. Though I had heard from Faramir's own lips that it was Eowyn he loved and intended to marry, I knew now that some lingering crumbs of hope had still remained, unbeknownst even to myself. The knowledge of their existence came to me at the same time as I felt them die, for if he could forgive her this, he was hers totally, and without reservation.  
  
"Well then, if Faramir knows and thinks you were not at fault, it is hardly my place to say otherwise," I heard myself saying in a calm voice, "for I have always held him to be a peerless advisor where matters of honor are concerned." Eowyn shrugged.  
  
"I did not say that he believes me blameless. It is merely not that important to him. It would seem he seeks qualities in a wife other than those possessed by a good soldier." I gave her a hard stare at that, wondering if she were being intentionally insulting, but she seemed rather oblivious to my offense. "Do you still desire him?" she asked matter-of-factly after a moment's silence. I nodded somberly.  
  
"Aye, that I do." Her gaze suddenly became penetrating.  
  
"What will you do when you return to Minas Tirith? It will be a year or more before we are wed."  
  
"Do? I shall do nothing! What is it you think I would do? Try to win him away from you?" I was suddenly irritated at the veiled insults, intended or not. "Nothing has changed, Eowyn--I am still barren and it is still you that he desires! And even if Lord Elrond did change the first, the second would keep me from him! I have no desire to play the lovesick girl--unlike some people I know! I am making a new life for myself, and he has no part in it, other than as a friend. I do not see why you cannot accept that." A flash of annoyance crossed Eowyn's face when I implied that she'd acted like a lovesick girl, but her voice was still reasonably level.  
  
"You are a warrior through and through, Hethlin, and I know that well. How could I not believe that you would fight for him? And in truth, I wonder if you would judge me as harshly in the matter of Dunharrow as you seem to do, were I not Faramir's betrothed. I think there is some part of you that wishes to discredit me as a soldier, so that you might feel better about losing him."  
  
"That may very well be true," I admitted, standing and moving once more to bridle my mare. "But if I judge you harshly for anything, it is because you cost me North Ithilien." Eowyn startled.  
  
"What? How is it that I had anything to do with that?" The mare accepted the bit, and I pulled the bridle over her ears.  
  
"I just now figured it out. When the King asked me to go to Dol Amroth, his exact words were 'Swear fealty to Prince Imrahil now, and study with him for two years, and at the end of that time, should you desire to return to Ithilien, I will grant your request.' Later on, he told me about wanting me to guard his queen, and about his having seen me doing something important at Dol Amroth. But that was not what he said at first." I began tightening the girth. Eowyn had risen as well, and was preparing her own mount, a somewhat strained expression on her face.  
  
"Admittedly," I continued, "he did not promise me the captaincy if I did what he wished. But I have been thinking as we talked here about why it was that mine was the only appointment of Faramir's that he did not confirm, and I think it was because I am a woman. I am a woman, he did not know me personally, and the only other mortal woman he has known to be given such a responsible martial position is you. So because you walked away from your duty, I have been sentenced to two years in Dol Amroth, to prove to him that I will not do the same the first time I find a man I like, or something else I want to do better. THAT is the important thing I have to do there." Finishing my preparations, I swung into the saddle, and Eowyn followed suit a moment later.  
  
"I think that that is a bit unlikely, Hethlin," she said. "You cannot blame me for everything that goes wrong in your life. If you could not win Faramir's heart, it is because you were not the sort of woman he could love. And if Aragorn did not choose to confirm your captaincy, it is certainly not my fault! He must have seen some lack in you somewhere."  
  
"Even as I have seen in you this day?" I inquired, so weary and heart-sick of a sudden that I could not even be angered at her words. "I think it best if we leave off this sort of talk, lady. It does neither of us credit. Perhaps we should return to Edoras now." I urged the mare forward, and Eowyn fell in beside me.  
  
"But what of your horse?" she inquired in surprise. I shook my head.  
  
"I have no need of another horse, Eowyn--Fortune serves me well enough. In truth, I do not even know if the Prince would allow it, or how I would afford to feed it."  
  
"The Prince would not mind, I know he would not, and Eomer will be insulted if you do not choose. He it was who declared that you should have one, if taking something from my hands distresses you. It will be seen as an affront to the House of Eorl to refuse his gift." I shrugged.  
  
"I will explain that I was confronted with so many beautiful horses that there was no way I could choose but one. And that is the truth, for the most part." She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but after a moment, simply nodded, lifted her chin, and led the way back in silence to Edoras. We unsaddled, brushed and put our mounts away, still silently, and said no word of goodbye to each other as we parted company. I took such dinner as I had appetite to eat in my room that evening, for I did not wish to sit at table under keen Elven eyes, and thought hard upon what had passed between us that day, and about whether the friendship between us had ever been anything but an illusion. 


	37. Meduseld

Thanks to Dwimordene, for allowing me to borrow her poet. Though the twins do not figure into this chapter particularly, I am dedicating it to Sir Alex Black and Cheshire, another pair of twins who have been faithful readers.  
  
  
Still much troubled in my mind, I went next door to the Prince's chamber that evening when he returned from dinner, that I might be sure he required nothing before he retired. Though I had come to realize that he was not comfortable with me serving him in the more personal capacity that was normal for an esquire--for instance, he would not allow me to help him dress or bathe-- he had no problem sending my two good legs off on errands to fetch things that he needed.  
  
I found him sitting in one of the intricately carved wooden chairs by his table upon which stood a lamp and a tankard of ale, reading a book. His jerkin had been set aside in the summer heat, and he wore a clean shirt open at the throat and rolled up at the sleeves. His legs were propped upon a low footstool and crossed at the ankle, and he looked very comfortable.  
  
He smiled gently when I knocked and stuck my head in the door.  
  
"Ah, Hethlin, come to wish me a good night?"  
  
"I thought I would see if you needed anything before you retired, my lord."  
  
"I was wondering if you would come to see me this evening. I'm glad you did. Why don't you refill my tankard, and get one for yourself? The pitcher is on the side table over there." I stepped into the room, found the pitcher of ale where he had said it was, and filled an extra tankard I'd found there with it. He indicated a chair I could pull up next to his, and I did so, and seated myself, looking curiously at the book, for I knew the tally of what he'd brought with him by heart, and there had been no books in it. He followed my glance, and smiled.  
  
"It appears that Eomer's grandfather Thengel and I share similar literary tastes. Thengel or Eomer's grandmother Morwen of Lossarnach. Did you know we are kin from afar, Eomer and Eowyn and I?" Surprised, I shook my head. He closed the book and set it gently on the table. "Well, we are. Morwen's people were originally from Belfalas. It is a more distant connection than yours with the King, but it exists nonetheless."  
  
"Oh. I had no idea." I took a sip of the ale, and pondered that for a moment. It was unlikely that the Prince would appreciate hearing anything other than praise about a young woman who was about to become related to him twice over. Staring rather blindly into the fireplace, where logs were laid but no fire kindled, I could feel the weight of the Prince's regard.  
  
"Hethlin," he asked quietly, "is something troubling you?" I swigged down a big gulp of the ale.  
  
"Nay, my lord. What was it you were reading?" He leaned a little further back in his chair, and steepled his fingers.  
  
"Poetry. Love poetry, if you must know the truth of it."  
  
"Really? I wouldn't have thought you interested in such things, from what you told me before." He smiled.  
  
"About being past all that?" I nodded. "I can still appreciate poetry, Hethlin. You might enjoy this yourself, given your Northern background. Silvariel of Arnor. I have this same book at home in Dol Amroth. My wife enjoyed it." He gave me a sideways, twinkling look. "I would imagine Elrohir can quote you whole passages." I made a little snorting noise, and began to turn pink. He chuckled, then sobered again, and leaned forward earnestly.  
  
"Seriously, Hethlin, something is bothering you. I noticed your absence at dinner. Will you not tell me what it is? I may be able to help you, and surely you know that it will not go any further." I gave him a pointed look.  
  
"It won't go any further if I make you swear not to tell anyone, you mean. Otherwise, you will talk to someone if you deem it advisable." He winced.  
  
"I suppose I do deserve that. Though I thought we had come to an understanding about the picnic. Very well, then--I promise I will not speak to anyone else about what you tell me here tonight. Will that suffice?" I nodded, took another swallow of ale, and after a moment's hesitation, began.  
  
"Did you know that Eowyn had been left in charge of things here, and that she rode to Minas Tirith anyway?" He nodded, comprehension dawning in his face.  
  
"Yes, I did. Aragorn and I spoke of it at length upon one occasion. But you did not, I take it. Did you just discover this today?"  
  
"Aye. We had ridden out together to look at the horses, and I asked her why some of the people here seemed unhappy with her. She told me, and I ......I don't think I answered in the way she hoped I would. I think I was supposed to say I understood, and not judge her, since I am her friend, and that is not what happened. We didn't fight, exactly, but she knows I am disappointed in her, and it's made things a bit.....cold between us."  
  
"Ah, I see." Imrahil's expression grew thoughtful. "What exactly is it you want to ask me?" I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and sipped my drink again.  
  
"'Tis said you are the most honorable man in Gondor. What do you think about what she did?" He sat back again.  
  
"Hmmmmmm. Well, the first thing I will say to you is that you have been a soldier long enough to know that you always have the option of disobeying an order. You always have the option with the understanding that, if you do so, you had better have a very good reason--such as being privy to information the officer who issued the order did not possess. Or you had better produce such a favorable outcome that there can be no argument you did the right thing. Because otherwise, your career, and possibly your life, will be over. You can end up a hero, or reviled and despised--there is no middle ground."  
  
"Is that what you think she did? Produced a favorable outcome?"  
  
"Well, there was the prophecy about the Witch-King, the one that said that it would take a woman to kill him. While I have no doubt that had you been on your feet, you could have dealt with him yourself," I snorted at this and he smiled, "the fact of the matter is that you were not. There are those who would argue that she was a tool of destiny, and had no choice but to act as she did. I prefer to think that we are responsible for our own choices, and destiny has no place in such things, but I could be wrong." He took a deep drink from his own tankard, and continued.  
  
"Did she win the day by killing the Witch King? I personally do not think so. Mithrandir turned him back from the Gate, and Aragorn was the one who turned the tide of the battle itself by arriving with the coastal levies. But she did help--there is no doubt the forces of Mordor might have been more steadfast had he not perished. From fear of him, if nothing else. And by her hand, a great evil was ended, that had endured through two ages of the world. So yes, I am reluctantly forced to conclude that the outcome was favorable enough that she cannot be faulted her disobedience." I sighed quietly.  
  
"I see. Thank you, sir." I made to rise, and he gestured that I sit once more.  
  
"I am not saying that I condone what she did, Hethlin, by any means. She was given a position of great responsibility, and she deserted her post."  
  
"She said she got everyone safely to Dunharrow, and left a good commander in charge. She said that as the King had left her in full command, she had the right to ask another to rule Dunharrow while she rode forth." Imrahil's eyebrow cocked.  
  
"That is a valid argument. And by that same argument, the man she'd left could have put someone in charge, and he someone else, and so forth and so on, till the second assistant stable boy was governing Rohan." His voice grew tart of a sudden. "The Lady Eowyn is royal, and she knows all too well that royalty can seldom serve its own wishes, or at least that it should not. The luxury in which we live is paid for by service to our people, above and beyond our own desires." He sipped his ale once more, and his fingers played over the tankard's surface almost absently.  
  
"On the other hand, Eowyn had in truth endured much anguish and torment of the mind in her uncle's house. That Theoden's infirmity was a product of Saruman's sorcery, and no fault of his own is quite possible--however, once he had been cured, the King still seemed oblivious to her plight. And Eomer was not much better--though he knew that Grima Wormtongue had been stalking her for years, he nonetheless charged Aragorn with being the source of her despair." The Prince shook his head and sighed.  
  
"I now believe that Eowyn's passion for Aragorn was nothing more than a misplaced expression of her desire to escape. And I can understand her anger and desperation when the very men who had failed for most of her life to protect her suddenly decided to do so just when the opportunity to do great deeds presented itself. The first thing you will learn as a commander, Hethlin, is to never give an order you know will not be obeyed. Had Theoden or Eomer truly been listening to her, they would have known that she would be forsworn ere they left Edoras." I sat back in my own chair and frowned.  
  
"So what you're saying is, she had a good reason for doing what she did."  
  
"No, what I am saying is that she thought she did."  
  
"What should I do now?"  
  
"I will not tell you what you should do. I will tell you what you can do--you can decide not to associate with someone who has besmirched her honor in such a way, tell Faramir that you think his bride is unworthy--"  
  
"--She said she told Faramir, and he said it didn't matter!" I broke in, hotly. The look of sudden comprehension returned to the Prince's face.  
  
"Ah, I think we come to the heart of the matter now. How did you feel when she told you that?"  
  
"I was angry, at her and at Faramir as well. How dare he say it didn't matter? He used to be so particular about such things! I can tell you that he certainly would not have been so gentle with me, had I done such a thing!"  
  
"No, he would not have," the Prince replied promptly, "But then, he would have judged you as a soldier, and Eowyn he judged as the woman he loves. You have gone to a great deal of trouble to convince Faramir, myself and the King that you wish to be judged as a soldier. Is that not the case any longer? I am not saying it is wrong of you to change your mind, but if you have done so, I wish you would tell me before I invest a great deal of effort in training you at Dol Amroth." I stared at him for a moment in confusion. He set his tankard on the table, leaned forward and took my hands in his.  
  
"Let me see if I can help you with this much, at least. The real problem here is that you and Eowyn both want what the other has. You want Faramir to love you as a woman and wife, and she still, I think, desires respect as a warrior from men. Neither of you will ever get all that you desire--Faramir is ever only going to be your friend, and Eowyn, though she has won renown, will never command men in the field. And I am sure that one day you will, no matter what the King said about Ithilien." I looked at him, startled, and he smiled and nodded.   
  
"Eowyn is already coming to realize this and to make her peace with it. I would be very surprised if she picks up a sword for any purpose other than exercise ever again. If you can do the same, I think you can work past your differences and become good friends. You have too many interests in common, and I am not speaking only of Faramir." I couldn't help but smile a little at that.  
  
"You said you would tell me what I could do, not what I should do," I reminded him.  
  
"That is true. And as I said earlier, you could shun her as a deserter or oathbreaker, or whatever you would like to call her. Or," and here he smiled rather sadly at me, "you could bear in mind that almost everybody makes at least one very bad decision for what they feel are good reasons during the course of their lifetime. And that the day could come when Hethlin of Anorien might do just that, and be thankful that her friends do not judge her harshly. You could continue to be friends with Eowyn, in a place where I fear she will not have many friends."  
  
"That is going to be difficult. I like her, but I think she did the wrong thing."  
  
"The right thing to do is usually the most difficult," the Prince observed. I sighed.  
  
"So my father always said."  
  
"Obviously a man of wisdom and discernment," Imrahil declared. I twitched a small smile at him, then furrowed my brow, which made the Eagle mark twinge a tiny bit..  
  
"But I am disappointed in her. And in Faramir. I've never been disappointed in him before. I don't like the way it feels." To my surprise, the Prince actually chuckled, which was hardly the reaction I had expected.  
  
"Hethlin, you know I love my nephew like a son. He is a good man, and it is even fair to say he is a great man. But he is not a perfect man. When I first met you, he was your Captain, your hero, your idol. You are growing up now, and perhaps beginning at last to see him a little more clearly. And that is not a bad thing."  
  
"It may not be a bad thing, but it's certainly a sad one," I said--then slowly, after a moment's hard thought--"I would wish, I think.....for someone who would treat me as you said your wife treated you. About her making you a better person. To be held to account for what I did, and made to mend it, if possible. Not to be patted upon the head and told, 'There, there, dear, it doesn't matter.' I would want to marry a man who would expect great things of me." With a start, I suddenly realized that for the first time, I had spoken of the possibility of marrying a man other than Faramir. The Prince's eyes glinted in the light of the lamp.  
  
"You have high standards, Hethlin. I hope that you find such a man one day." A tremor ran through the hands holding mine, and I looked at him with concern, but he spoke calmly enough.  
  
"'Tis nothing. Fear not. Merely an indication that it is past my bedtime. You saw what happened the other night--when I've reached my limit, I start to shake. Embarrassing, but useful in a way. The only good thing about it is that it is taking me longer each day to reach this point."  
  
"I am sorry, my lord," I said apologetically. "I should not have kept you up, dithering about my troubles." He smiled wryly.  
  
"I can only think of one occasion when I have seen you do something that could be called dithering, Hethlin. But if you are truly feeling the need to apologize, then help me with my boots. I can manage the rest." So I pulled his boots, then moved quickly to the bed to turn the coverlet back and plump the pillows like a good esquire. He stood up, braced himself on the chair for a moment, then started for the bed. Halfway there, he stumbled, but I had almost expected that, so I was able to turn and catch him, and with an arm about his waist, help him to the bed. When I had seated him, I knelt to unbutton his breeches at the knees so I could roll his stockings down. His voice sounded tersely above my head.  
  
"Hethlin, I told you I could manage this." I could feel the trembling in his legs as I removed the stockings.  
  
"With all due respect, my lord, I don't think you can. Would you like me to help you with your breeches?"  
  
"Absolutely not! Lord Elrond will be in presently--I'll get him to help, if it becomes necessary." I looked up at him quizzically.  
  
"You are aware, sir, aren't you, that I've already seen......everything you have to offer?"  
  
"I don't know when you could have!" the Prince protested. "I was always very careful to have Elladan and Elrohir bathe and care for me at such times. Even when I was very sick." He drew his legs up hurriedly, if a bit shakily, tucked them under the covers, and settled back against his pillows. I stood and smiled and pulled up the coverlet.  
  
"My lord prince, that last night in Fangorn, when you were so sick and coughing up blood, and then had that fit, and passed out afterwards--we all of us stripped you to the skin to clean you up. We were not worried about the proprieties, we were trying to save your life, and make you comfortable. It was at that time I first saw you unclothed. And I helped Lord Elrond undress you the other night." Imrahil groaned, and I chuckled.  
  
"It's quite all right, sir--I fought with the Rangers for four years, remember? And though Faramir and the others were careful, there were times when I saw....things...by accident. I'm not the sort who's going to faint if I walk around a tree at the wrong moment and spy someone's.....lance." The Prince covered his eyes with a shaking hand, and I noticed that his color had deepened perceptibly.  
  
"Hethlin, I don't think I want to have this conversation just now."  
  
"I'm sorry sir, but you might want to think about it some time soon. I am your esquire, sworn to you. Don't you have several personal esquires?"  
  
"Yes, Hethlin."  
  
"And don't they take turns caring for you? From what I saw amongst the Rohirrim, King Eomer's do."  
  
"Yes. When I am at home, or at Minas Tirith, or in the field, there is a rotation among them of the various duties I require," the Prince admitted with a sigh, lowering his hand from his face and surrendering to my desire to converse.  
  
"And isn't one of those duties to attend you in the bedchamber?"  
  
"Yes, it is."  
  
"Well, what are you going to do about that? You won't let me serve you in a personal way. Am I to be given different duties from the other esquires entirely? Or am I to skip that part when it's my turn, and have someone else do double duty? Is that fair to them?"  
  
"No, it's not entirely fair, but it would not be appropriate for you to provide such services for me," said the Prince, his face still a little flushed against the stark white of the pillow. "There are other things you can do when it would be your turn. I think the other esquires will understand."  
  
"And I think it's a little late to be worrying about appearances, my lord. For over a month now, I have been the only esquire traveling with you. Do you not think the other esquires will believe I've been taking care of all of your needs during this time?" He stared at me, startled realization upon his face.  
  
"Valar, Hethlin, I had not even considered that! You were right to bring this to my attention--I will think upon what might be best to do." I nodded, and moved to the door, and despite the fact that I was still upset over the day's events, an imp of mischief danced in my mind suddenly.  
  
"Of course, I will abide by whatever you decide, my lord. Though I am concerned about one more thing."  
  
"And that is?" asked the Prince, drawing the coverlet higher. I smiled sweetly.  
  
"You have a reputation as a man who speaks the truth. That reputation is going to be harmed if you continue to talk about how you no longer feel the stirrings of passion--in the face of evidence to the contrary."  
  
"HETHLIN!" he exclaimed in horror. I slipped through the door that connected our two rooms as swiftly as possible, chuckling as I went.  
  
  
It had seemed extremely clever at the time. But by the time I was in my room, it no longer seemed quite so humorous, and as I moved towards the fireplace to light the lamp, I was berating myself for my impertinence. After all, the Prince had never been aught but courteous and kind to me.  
  
There was a tall shadow in my darkened room, that turned to the door as it opened in a movement graceful as falling water, showing the silvery glint of grey eyes in a pale face.  
  
"As you have a proper room with proper walls, and a proper bed, I thought you might not mind some company this evening, Snowsteel," Elrohir purred.  
  
"With only a door between us and the Prince?" I said. "I'm not sure I could, Elrohir." He simply smiled, and waved his finger in the air.  
  
"I can make it so that he will not hear a thing," he assured me. "I will tell him Father sent me tonight, as he did Arwen the other evening."  
  
"That's the other thing," I protested, "Your father is going to be up here any moment to look in on him."  
  
"Well, there you have it--Father will no doubt take care of the matter. We have only to wait." No sooner had he spoken thus, when there came a murmur of voices from the other room. We could hear them rise and fall for a short time, then silence fell. A knock sounded on the door between my room and the Prince's. I jumped.  
  
"Who is it?"  
  
"Lady Hethlin, are you well? We did not see you at dinner tonight." It was indeed Elrohir's father. I blanched.  
  
"I am well, Lord Elrond. It was not my intention to worry you." It was not my intention to bring myself to his attention at all. "I was not much in the mood for company this evening, that is all." There was a moment's silence, and I saw Elrohir frown slightly.  
  
"You seem to have overcome your aversion to company, since my son is with you now," came the voice dryly through the door. I winced.  
  
"Aye, my lord, he is."  
  
"The Prince is asleep, and should rest peacefully until the morning--if that is of concern to you." Blushing with embarrassment and annoyance, even though he could not see me, I strove to keep my voice level and polite.  
  
"It is, my lord, and I thank you once again for your care of him." Another moment's silence.  
  
"Very well then. Good evening to you, Lady Hethlin. Elrohir."  
  
"Good night, Father," said Elrohir, speaking for the first time in a very neutral tone of voice. There was a sound of receding movement behind the door, then silence. He turned to me, and I felt the touch of his mind on mine. "What has happened today? I can feel that you are upset, and not just about my father. Are you well?" I opened my mouth to tell him what happened, then decided to save some time.  
  
"Look for yourself." He reviewed my memories of the events of the afternoon, and gave me a sympathetic look.  
  
"I am sorry that you are at odds with Eowyn. I know her friendship means much to you."  
  
"You do not care for her. You never pass up a chance to speak ill of her to me."  
  
"It is true that she is a bit too nervous and erratic for my taste. But I know that you care for her, and I will endeavor to think and speak better of her in the future for your sake. Though she has angered me with her actions this day. When one asks for the truth, one had better be prepared to accept it." Then his mind brushed over my conversation with the Prince, as I blushed furiously. He grinned and laughed liltingly when he was done.  
  
Oh, but you were a bad, wicked girl, Snowsteel!" he said gleefully. "I am so pleased and proud! I have corrupted you at last, it seems!"  
  
"The poor Prince!" I groaned. "He did not deserve that from me. I owe him service and respect!"  
  
"Have you ever considered that he might appreciate it if you were not so quite respectful?" Elrohir asked with that wicked gleam in his eyes. "As you said, the evidence was there." I gave him an offended look.  
  
"He is my liege lord!"  
  
"Perhaps he would like to be your love lord?" Elrohir suggested. I snorted.  
  
"Oh, stop that!" Elrohir's expression became suddenly, satirically hopeful..  
  
"Are you perchance still feeling wicked, Snowsteel? Because I would be glad to have you help me with my breeches. I too am a truthful person, and I tell you now, I definitely feel the stirrings of passion--look, I have the evidence right here......."  
  
I stopped his mouth with my own, feeling that to be the quickest and most effective method of dealing with the situation.  
  
  
The next morning I went to see the Prince, intending to apologize. I tried to time my visit so that he was already dressed, and was in fact successful in that, and found him eating breakfast at the little table in his room. I bowed ever so respectfully, and he gave me a brief nod of acknowledgment before addressing himself to his eggs once more. He looked weary, as if he had not slept well, and was in one of his more severe humors. Despite that, I decided that nothing would be gained by putting things off, and I cleared my throat.  
  
"My lord, I came to apologize for last night. My remark was impertinent, and impolite, and crude. I was brought up better than that, truly I was. It will not happen again." He cocked an eyebrow at me, as his knife cut the eggs into neat, bite-sized pieces.  
  
"That is good to know, Hethlin. I realize that what we have been through of late has created an air of brotherhood and familiarity, but that really was a little too personal." I nodded, my face flushing with shame.  
  
"I know that sir, and I am very sorry." Imrahil nodded, forked up a piece of egg, chewed it reflectively for a moment, then swallowed.  
  
"Here is how we will do things in the future," he declared calmly. "You will never mention my......evidence...as you called it, again, and in turn, I will never speak of that morning on the way to Lothlorien, when the Lady Eowyn absolutely soaked your shirt. A rather chilly morning, now that I think upon it." I had to stop for a moment, to try to figure out what exactly he was talking about, and when the meaning finally sank in, my face reddened from the pink it already was, to rose, and finally to dark, dark red.  
  
"Very well, sir," I stammered, and he gave me one of his bland looks.  
  
"Good. Will there be anything else?" When I shook my head, the bland look vanished, and the Prince suddenly smiled in a way I'd never seen him smile before; head slightly tilted, a wicked twinkle to his eyes, and a roguish cant to his mouth. In that one moment, he looked every bit as wicked as Elrohir, as young as his nephew and in truth, rather piratical. The next, he was his usual royally civil self again. Staring at him dumbfounded, I almost missed the little, customary, dismissive wave of his hand.  
  
"Go get your breakfast, child," he said with an air of long-suffering patience. I did as I was told. 


	38. The Fillies

Author's Note--Sorry, this is another short chapter. I got myself into another of those situations where I was either going to have a short chapter and a slightly longer one, or a twenty-page monstrosity. Figured you folks would rather have the short chapter earliest. Finally, they're going to get back on the road........  
  
  
  
After breakfast, the Prince walked down the path to the gates of Edoras with Eomer, a couple of Eomer's esquires and myself, en route to the stable yards to look at the horses Eomer had selected as likely prospects for Lothiriel. At the gates we found an extremely placid mare, and a stableboy who immediately bowed and offered my lord a leg up. The Prince gave the King of Rohan a very pointed look, which he ignored, grinning.  
  
"It is a bit of a hike back around to the horse yards, my lord, and with you so frail, I would not want to risk putting your recovery in peril." Imrahil snorted.  
  
"'Frail'? Frail, is it? You realize that I will be very much more myself when I return to Edoras with your uncle's body, do you not? Perhaps a little sparring then will convince you as to the completeness of my cure." Eomer's grin broadened even more.  
  
"My heart is gladdened by the invitation to participate in a demonstration of your recovery, my lord prince," he declared with utter sincerity. The two men stared at each other for a moment, then started laughing. The Prince shook his head, and availed himself of the servant's aid in mounting, but took the reins into his own hands most decisively.  
  
Still chuckling, Eomer led the way around the wall of the city to a flat plain at the side, where lay stables and a training ground for Rohan's horses. An awning had been set up in the stable yard, and chairs and a table of refreshments provided. Eomer assisted the Prince off of his horse, and made a great fuss over settling him into his chair, seeing that the extra pillows had been properly plumped, and that his legs were comfortably positioned on a footstool. The Prince, wisely realizing that he was being teased, endured the fussing with nothing more than an arched eyebrow, though his eyes held the promise of retribution towards the King of Rohan sometime in the future. Bemused, I wondered what form it would take--I knew from recent experience that Imrahil was not a person to tease lightly or safely.  
  
The Prince had scarce been settled in when the stablemen began bringing forward the first of the two-year-olds. His eyebrow went up.  
  
"I thought we had agreed upon a yearling, Eomer." Remembering Eowyn's words upon this subject, I smiled to see the King of Rohan's brow crease for a moment, as he looked for a way to explain his "generosity".  
  
"I thought upon it, and worried that your daughter might grow impatient, waiting for a yearling to mature. This way, she will be able to ride a year earlier, and therefore be more likely to keep her enthusiasm." Imrahil nodded thoughtfully.  
  
"Very astute of you indeed." He gave Eomer an earnest look. "But the price I paid was for a yearling--would you not care to raise it a bit to better reflect the added value of the older horse?" Eomer didn't exactly squirm as the Prince twisted the knife, but he looked distinctly uncomfortable.  
  
"No, no, not at all--I am quite content with the bargain."  
  
"Well, I thank you for your generosity, then," Imrahil declared, eyes hooded to hide the amused twinkle in their depths. Eomer made a indecipherable noise, nodded, and gestured fervently to the stablemen to continue with the display.  
  
I listened intently then as the Prince and Eomer discussed the relative strengths and weaknesses of the young horses before them. They were undoubtedly two of the greatest horsemen in Gondor and Rohan, and their debate and commentary were extremely educational. The candidates were halved early on when the Prince stated that he wished for a filly for his daughter, but there were still many beautiful young horses to choose from.  
  
Over a period of two hours, the candidates were winnowed down to four--two greys, a bay and a black, and there the two men stalled for a bit. The Prince got up at that point, and went over each of them hands on, talking softly to them. The stablemen moved them out several more times apiece. Finally, the Prince indicated the black filly.  
  
"Were I choosing for myself, I think I would take the larger of the two greys," he said, "but she would be a handful for Lothiriel. The black has a kind nature, and is a pretty thing--my daughter will like her well." Eomer nodded ruefully.  
  
"Her father has chosen well--I am quite fond of that filly myself. We have few blacks left now." Imrahil patted his arm consolingly.  
  
"Perhaps when she is older, you may make an arrangement with my daughter for a foal."  
  
"Perhaps," Eomer agreed, then turning his attention to me, asked, "Have you selected your horse yet, Lady Hethlin?" I blushed a little, trying to decide what to say. "No sire, I was too busy insulting your sister to make a final decision," seemed a bit......inappropriate, as the Prince would have put it. Fortunately, I was saved the necessity of a reply by one of the stablemen, the head man it seemed, who spoke very good Westron.  
  
"She chose one of the yearling fillies, my lord--the blue roan. The Lady Eowyn asked that the filly be captured yesterday, and we brought her up this morning." Eomer smiled, pleased.  
  
"An excellent choice, Hethlin! I know that bloodline--good feet, and legs, and fast. Between your liege lord and yourself, I am losing some good future broodmares."  
  
"I asked Eowyn if you wished me to pick from a certain group of horses, my lord, and she said no. Was she in error?"  
  
"Oh, no!" The King shook his head. "You did very well, though I am surprised you did not chose a made horse. It was my thought to give you a proper war-horse." He shot a sidelong glance at Imrahil, opening yet another round in their ongoing war of horsemanship, but the Prince refused to take notice.  
  
"I thought about it, but I liked her," I told Eomer. "She was feisty."  
  
"And by the time you've finished your Swan Knight training, she will be of an age to train to saddle," the Prince commented. Rising to his feet, he declared, "Come, Eomer, I would like to see Hethlin's choice." The King obligingly accompanied us into the spacious stables of the Rohirrim, the pillars of which were as ornately carved and decorated as the King's hall itself, where we soon found my new horse by following the sound of a hoof angrily striking planking. She was moving restlessly about the stall, and from time to time would whinny imperiously, seeking her comrades. The Prince wisely did not enter the stall, but watched her for some moments with interest, and after a bit of soft-voiced coaxing, persuaded her to come over and get scratched.  
  
"Eomer is right, she'll be a fast one judging from her build, Hethlin," he said, a pleased look upon his face. He gave me a meaningful stare for a long moment, and eventually I realized what he wished for me to do. I bowed to Eomer, and addressed him.  
  
"Thank you, my lord king. She is truly a royal gift, and I promise I will care for her to the best of my ability." The King smiled, pleased.  
  
"Consider it a reward for your care of my sister when she was alone in Minas Tirith. I am very glad that she has such a friend in you." Embarrassed, my cheeks reddened, and I ducked my head. The Prince patted my shoulder kindly.  
  
"You made a good choice, Hethlin, though any horse this young is a risk, and only time will tell if you were correct. I think I would like to go back now. Are you coming with us, Eomer?" The King shook his head.  
  
"I have to go see about a late breeding, and there are some other matters that require my attention this day. I'll see you this evening, if not before--and we are having a farewell feast tonight!" His face, which had darkened somewhat when speaking of his work, brightened considerably as he spoke of the feast, and he smiled another of his brilliant smiles and left us.  
  
We left the barn ourselves to find the stableman who had told us about the filly holding the patient mare once more. "You may ride her within the gates, milord, and up to Meduseld itself," he told the Prince, "for she is sure-footed, and well able to manage the stairs. Then simply release her, and she will return to the barn herself." The Prince mounted with his assistance, then paused for a moment, stroking her neck.  
  
"What exactly does this horse do, when she is not carrying invalid Princes?" he asked the stableman. The man hesitated for the briefest time, then answered with a bit of a grin.  
  
"The older ladies use her, when they want or need to ride, my lord." The Prince nodded.  
  
"Why am I not surprised? Thank you for all your help--Aedwyn, wasn't it?" The man nodded, and waved a farewell as we started back to the city. Once out of earshot, the Prince looked down at me, his lips twitching.  
  
"I must think of something..... truly special for Eomer, as a gift in payment for all his hospitality. Perhaps I should consult with the sons of Elrond." I gave him an astonished look, and he grinned down at me.  
  
"Surprised are you, Hethlin? Why so? Did you not tell me once that you found it easy to believe that I could have been a rogue?"  
  
"I figured you'd outgrown it, my lord."  
  
"Oh no, never outgrown, Hethlin. Continually and forcibly repressed, rather." I walked quietly with him for a while after that, trying to stifle a smile at the thought of the sons of Elrond working in concert with him to discomfit the King of Rohan. Eomer would be in very grave danger should that actually ever come to pass, I decided.  
  
"Will you speak with her?" he asked at last, after we had passed through the gates of Edoras, and were going up the path towards Meduseld.  
  
"Aye, my lord, I will," I replied, not bothering to pretend that I did not know who he was talking about.   
  
"That is good. I believe you will feel better when you do. And less inclined to take your unhappiness out upon your fellows." I glanced up at him, and saw that damnable twinkle in his eyes again.   
  
"I said I was sorry, my lord prince."   
  
"So you did, child, so you did." Mercifully, he decided to make no more mention of my indiscretion, and spoke only of things that caught his eye as we passed through the city--a bit of carving on a house, an interesting thatching pattern, a bevy of blonde children playing swordfight in an alleyway. Eventually, we reached the house where we were staying, and he slid off of the mare. Knotting the reins up on her neck so that she would not catch a hoof in them, he gave her a gentle slap on the rump, and true to the   
stableman's promise, she began to slowly make her way back down the road.  
  
"I believe I will go within and read for a bit," the Prince told me, but when I asked if he wished me to attend him, he forestalled me with an upraised hand.  
  
"I think you have another task before you," he said, and pointed back up the hill in the direction of Meduseld. There upon the porch before the great doors stood a slim figure in white, her golden hair lifting in the breeze. I sighed, and grimaced. The Prince patted my shoulder gently.  
  
"Remember--what is most right is usually most difficult," he reminded me.  
  
"Indeed, my lord--a lesson I am learning all too well." And I bowed to him, and left him, and went back up the hill to have words with Eowyn.   
  
  
She stood her ground as she watched me approach, her face that expressionless mask it had been the day before. I climbed up the stairs to the porch of Meduseld, and reaching the top, looked her in the eye for a moment.   
  
"Thank you for having the stablemen bring the filly up, Eowyn," I said quietly. "It saved me some embarrassment with your brother this morning." She nodded, and looked away out over the city.  
  
"I feared you would think me impertinent, making the choice for you like that. But I believe we could have looked at all the other horses, and you still would have chosen that one, for she had chosen you, and we Rohirrim take such things very seriously."  
  
"Like your brother being offended if I had rejected a gift from the House of Eorl? Thank you for having a care for my honor even after I insulted you."  
  
"We neither of us are like to hold back with a sharp sword or sharp words," she commented dryly, "and you were every bit as insulted as I. I asked you to tell me the truth, and when you did, I attacked you for it." My hand stroked the stone mane of one of the two horse heads decorating the terrace.  
  
"But there was some truth in what you told me as well. You are not the person to blame if I am unhappy with my situation. And you were right about something else--I might very well try to fight for Faramir, particularly if Lord Elrond could be prevailed upon to help me. I was offended when I thought that the King was shunting me off to Dol Amroth to keep me from being an embarrassment, but perhaps he was wiser than I thought." I looked at her very directly.  
  
"So for that reason, and not because I am wroth with you in any way, I am not going to return to Edoras with the Prince when he accompanies your uncle's body home. I am going to go on to Dol Amroth with the other new esquires." Eowyn's face fell.  
  
"Is this to be the end of our friendship then? Will you cut yourself off from both Faramir and myself?"  
  
"Oh no!" I hastened to reassure her. "It is only till you are wed. And I will come to your wedding, and be very happy for you both! Eventually, you will probably wish to chase me away, for I fully intend to become Auntie Hethlin to your children, and spoil them dreadfully!" She smiled a little at that thought.  
  
"I expect you would be very good at that. And we would hardly drive you away! No, we would be more likely to leave them with you for a fortnight or so while we slipped off for some time together!"  
  
"Good. I could teach them how to track and hunt and shoot. You, of course, would teach them how to ride." Her smile became a grin.  
  
"What would Faramir teach them?" I grinned right back at her.  
  
"How to write unreadable poetry using obscure Numenorean verse forms." She laughed, and the last of the tension between us was dispelled.  
  
"Come, let us get some lunch, and some beer! I have been sad and angry so much over the last day and night that a powerful thirst is upon me."  
  
"You were born with a powerful thirst," I muttered, and she heard me and chuckled.  
  
"I was born a maiden of the Rohirrim, which is pretty much the same thing." And we went forth in search of lunch, and beer. I tried to match her drink-for-drink again, and failed of course, and she quite enjoyed her victory in that particular ongoing competition. We talked about all sorts of things until I got sleepy and owlish, and she offered to tuck me in for a nap, and I rather rudely told her what she could do with the nap, whereupon she laughed, and gave me another lesson in Rohirric invective. Things were once more back to normal between us.  
  
  
The feast that night in Meduseld was even more impressive than the meal that had greeted us the night we arrived. Eomer raised his glass in admiration of the beauty of his future Queen, and Lord Elrond toasted the White Lady of Rohan in his turn. The Rohirrim, having become somewhat accustomed to their eldritch guests, were more comfortable, and the conversation varied and entertaining. Lord Elrond left the feast for a while in the company of the Prince, who claimed that he was weary, and wished to retire early. When the Lord of Imladris returned alone, Elrohir gave me a hopeful look, but I was engrossed in a discussion of the merits of my new filly with Eowyn and Eomer, and not ready to go to bed yet.  
  
By the time I did arrive there, he was, to put it politely, eager, and I chuckled as I lay atop him for once, kissing him soft and slow, and stroking my fingers through his silky hair.  
  
"Do you suppose the Prince went to bed early for our sakes?" He shuddered as I ran a hand down his side.  
  
"It is possible. Have I commented lately upon what an exquisitely polite and thoughtful man your liege lord is?" I nibbled an ear tip, and he groaned.  
  
"No," I said, "mostly you complain about how my duties to him get in the way of what you want to do."  
  
"Well, I take it all back, and commend him for his courtesy." I laughed, and worked on the ear a bit longer. He shuddered again, and kissed me suddenly, hard.  
  
"You are certainly acting like a young elfling at his first harvest festival tonight," I commented. "Hardly like a three-thousand-year-old warrior of renown. Whatever has gotten you so......enthused?" His hands played feverishly up and down my back.  
  
"If you must know, it was all the incessant talk about horse breeding! This stallion covering that mare and so forth and so on. And, of course, the discussions about humans at the court and their matings. An earthy lot, these Rohirrim."  
  
"Is that a problem?"  
  
"Not that I can see," he replied, and suddenly flipped me underneath him with a clever twist of his body, and began kissing me in earnest. Our farewell to Edoras that night was definitely of the earthy sort that the Rohirrim would have greatly appreciated.  
  
  
The next morning, the stirrup cup was passed about at our departure, rather to the bemusement of the elves. Lothiriel's filly and my own had been situated amongst the pack beasts. Eowyn lingered for a moment at my side before moving onto her other guests.  
  
"May I write to you?" she asked, still a bit disappointed that I was not returning with the funeral procession. I nodded.  
  
"I wish that you would. I will write you, and tell you all about my training. Though I don't know how often we'll be able to exchange letters. I'll write every week, though, and send them when I can."  
  
"I will do that as well. You'll most likely get a clutch of them all at once," she commented. "That is the way it usually happens."  
  
"That will certainly be a happy day," I declared, and leaned down and gave her a hug. The Prince, who was mounted upon Caerith this morning in a obvious attempt to dispel the impression amongst the stalwart Rohirrim that he was a permanent invalid, watched the two of us with undisguised approval. Eomer strolled over, and gave me a grin and friendly warrior's clasp of arms. I wondered at his sudden discretion--then saw him cast a surreptitious glance at Elrohir, who was sitting Alagos and watching us intently. He had apparently finally made a connection between his attentions towards me, and Elladan's towards him.  
  
"Thank you again for the lovely filly, my lord king," I told him earnestly, and his smile broadened even more.  
  
"You are very welcome, Hethlin. Who knows, perhaps we'll ride to war together one day, and you can show me how well you've trained her." The Prince, who was nearby, shook his head.  
  
"Goodness, Eomer, we just made peace! Could you not wait a year or two before wanting to fight again?"  
  
"Of course, my lord prince," he responded promptly. "You will undoubtedly need at least that much time to complete your recovery." The Prince shook a chiding finger at him.  
  
"Next month, Eomer, next month!" The King of Rohan chuckled, wished me well, then sauntered over to the Prince, clasped his arm, and suddenly pulled him down towards him, and gave him a firm hug. I saw Imrahil blink in surprise.  
  
"You look after yourself, Imrahil. You frightened me when you arrived." The Prince smiled, laid his arm about Eomer's broad shoulders, and squeezed hard.  
  
"I am well enough, lad, and I'll be myself again when I return. You'll see." He gave his future nephew-in-law another squeeze, and released him. Eomer patted Caerith's neck gently.  
  
"You'd better be! A Rohirric funeral feast is not for anyone feeling less than themselves! And this will be a great one--Theoden King did deeds of great renown." He stepped back from Caerith, and Eowyn joined him. They raised their hands in farewell at the gates of Edoras, as we moved out, on our way again to Minas Tirith at last. 


	39. The Road

Author's Note--Many apologies for the late update--I now have two jobs, and when I'm doing a show with my first job, I have about eight spare hours in my day, and I like to use them for sleeping (and taking care of critters!) The good news is that shows are over till after the holidays, and then there are the holidays.........Maybe I'll finish before Captain's anniversary in January!  
  
  
When we left Edoras, we had nine days to reach Minas Tirith as it was the wedding party's intention to arrive on Mid Year's Eve. This meant that by necessity, the Elves were finally traveling at what I felt was an acceptable pace. The Prince, rather to my surprise, rode Caerith for almost two hours that day before he finally sought the horse litter.  
  
"Our stop in Edoras appears to have done you good, my lord," I commented as I rode Fortune beside the litter. Prince Imrahil smiled.  
  
"I do feel much better, Hethlin, though I am sorry I held us up for so long. Looking back, it might have been better for all concerned if I had remained in Lorien till I was well." I shook my head.  
  
"Nay, my lord, I think it was better you came along, to act as a go-between for the Elves and the Rohirrim. You are so very good at that sort of thing." He gave me an amused grin, and settled back into the litter.  
  
"I thank you for your kind words, lady." Looking me up and down for a moment, he frowned slightly. "Now, is there some particular reason you're sitting poor Fortune as if he were a handy sack of potatoes you wished to rest your rump on?" I blushed, and hurriedly straightened in the saddle. Our daily horsemanship lessons had apparently just resumed.  
  
Other aspects of our traveling routine also began again with the journey. In the evenings, Lord Celeborn continued to give me lessons in my mind gifts, and in the mornings the twins would work on my swordplay. During the day, as we rode, the Lady Arwen told me tales of Imladris, and the North, and her acquaintance with my father.  
  
"I first met him when he saved one of my ladies," she said the second day out from Edoras. "It was springtime, and we were all out gathering flowers for a festival. She ventured too close to the banks of the Bruinen, which was in full spate from the snow-melt, trod upon a mossy spot, slipped and fell in. We all followed, crying out in fear and distress, for she was being swept towards some rapids, and we had no ropes with us, only the garlands of flowers we had woven."  
  
"A Ranger broke out of the woods upon the opposite side of the river bank. He surveyed the situation, slid out of his pack, swiftly removed his boots and weapons, undid the roll of rope he carried there, and fastened it about his waist, all the while looking skyward in a most curious fashion. Then he dove into the current, the rope trailing behind him. With swift strokes he headed downstream towards my lady, and soon reached her. We wondered what he would do then, for they were hard by the rocks, and though he began to try to fight his way back upstream one-handed, it was obvious that the current was too swift, and he too hampered by his companion. We watched with our hearts in our throats, unable to do anything, expecting to see them dashed to pieces at any moment. Even I was helpless, for the river answers to my father's will and not to mine."  
  
"Then the Eagle came, and stooping low, deftly seized the rope where it trailed behind them in the water. Wings beating furiously, it hovered in midair till the rope snapped taut, then carefully began to backwing towards our side of the river. Eventually, the Ranger's feet found footing in the shallows, and he stood and hauled his fair burden onto the bank."  
  
"It was then, as he stood there sodden and bedraggled, that he introduced himself rather stiffly as Halaran son of Hethrandel of the House of the Eagle." Arwen smiled in sad reminiscence. "He was your age then, perhaps even a bit younger, certainly very young to have earned his star, but I think by that time he had already experienced enough of his kinsmen's distrust that he was not one to make friends easily. He had never visited Imladris before, and I knew him not, but the Eagle who had aided his rescue I knew quite well--Landroval, brother to the Eagles' chieftain, Gwaihir. It appeared that they were great friends, and when Halaran was patrolling close to the Hithaeglir, traveling companions. As had been the case that day, fortunately for my lady." Arwen paused for a moment, stretching a bit in the saddle, turning her face up to the sun, and giving her elven horse a gentle pat on the neck. Then she resumed her tale.  
  
"There is really nothing much to say after that. Halaran helped us get the lady back to Imladris, and I saw to it that he was cared for as well. He feasted with us that night, and accepted the thanks of my lady Mehariel's parents and Mehariel herself with awkward courtesy. The next morning he resumed his patrol, though we urged him to rest a day or two. But after that, he became one of the Dunedain Aragorn preferred to send to Imladris upon errands, and when he came, we would play chess sometimes of an evening. I quite liked him." She gave me an ironic smile.  
  
"I do possess a well-polished mirror, Hethlin, and am not unaware of my charms. I appreciated your father because he was one of the few people who did not seem to care that I was beautiful. I was just his friend and chess opponent Arwen, and he always looked me in the eye."  
  
"I think he may have tried to teach me to play when I was little, but I had no patience for it at the time. I used to like to play my own games with the pieces," I said thoughtfully. "He would play with my mother in the evenings, every once in a while." Arwen actually grinned of a sudden.  
  
"Oh, here is another memory for you! Your father came to Imladris with a message right after Liraniel had agreed to marry him. He'd always been a bit of a dour, silent type, but when we talked that evening after dinner, he was almost gushing! So very happy, and so disbelieving of his good fortune. His far more handsome friend had also been courting her, and had been refused in favor of him, which greatly astonished him. He found it difficult to believe that anyone could love him for his better qualities alone." She threw me a sidelong, humorous look. "You are very much like him in that respect." I decided to let that one pass, and encouraged her to tell me more tales, which she was more than willing to do. The Prince, who had listened in on some of this by virtue of proximity, gestured me over to the litter when Arwen had ridden to the front of the line to rejoin her father. She had been making an effort to spend as much time with him as possible.  
  
"I notice you have only asked Lady Arwen about your father," he said with that smile of his that seemed to be created by both eyes and mouth. "Why do you not ask her about your grandfather as well? You never knew him, and she might very well have. Or your great-grandfather or his father or--"  
  
"--I get the idea, my lord prince," I said, giving him a wry look. "Why exactly are you bringing this to my attention? Is this about Elrohir?" The Prince chuckled.  
  
"Must everything be about Elrohir? Though I know that he would greatly enjoy the idea that it was."  
  
"I was just wondering if this were not yet another warning about the perils of becoming involved with the Firstborn." Imrahil gave me a much soberer look.  
  
"I think that on this journey you have already seen first-hand something of that pain. You need no further warnings from me." His manner then lightened again, in a mercurial shift that was rather....elvish. The longer we traveled with them, the more like them he seemed to become. "I was merely thinking of how sundered you are from all of your kin and history. Short of traveling to the North Kingdom yourself, Lady Arwen may be your best resource for acquainting yourself with your family's background. Better even than the King." I shook my head in admiring disbelief.  
  
"My lord, I think you are the only person I know who could look at the Lady Arwen and think of her as a resource." Imrahil glanced towards the front of our caravan to where Arwen rode, her slim figure erect, her black hair bannering in the breeze.  
  
"I look at the Lady Arwen and think of her as a great many things. An ancient, exquisite being. A healer, an artisan. A woman with the greatest capacity to love I have ever known. My Queen. My good friend Aragorn's wife. And the personification of every bittersweet, tragic love story I was fed as a child by the bevy of minstrels that infested my father's court."  
  
"You make minstrels sound like some kind of plague, my lord!" I laughed. The Prince smiled knowingly.  
  
"Just you wait till you are at Dol Amroth! You will see then. It is not amusing to have your least deed immortalized in song! They seem to think it worthy of note if I manage to dress myself correctly of a morning!"  
  
"The attention you give to your wardrobe is legendary, my lord-- they may have a point!" Imrahil winced in exaggerated fashion, crediting me a hit. "But I know what you mean. Someone recently threatened to write a song about me." He followed my glance towards where Elrohir rode with graceful arrogance.  
  
"He did, did he? About the Pelennor, I take it?" I nodded, and he grinned boyishly. "I think that is a song I would like to hear someday!"  
  
"He's already told the story, at the Ranger party the night before the King was crowned. It wasn't anything like what really happened--it was very.....neat and tidy. Like I planned everything, cool as you please. Nothing about me crying my eyes out, or anything like that." The Prince nodded knowingly.  
  
"Ah, but there wouldn't have been, Hethlin. You've run right up against the difference between legend and life. Take Aragorn, for instance. There will be songs aplenty of his deeds of battle, and how he conquered the Darkness with the Sword Reforged. But there won't be any about the former Ranger who is the despair of his valet for his indifference to fashion and of his secretary for his indifference to schedules, and who is addicted to pipeweed."  
  
"Is he really?" I asked, intrigued. "The first time I met him he had his pipe with him, and he even let me try it, but is the habit that strong?"  
  
"Oh yes." The Prince's tone was dryly amused. "Breathes more smoke than a dragon does, does our King. Never you fear, though--Lady Arwen will break him of that in a hurry. That is the ultimate purpose of wives, I deem--to civilize us loutish menfolk. She has already confided to me that she finds his pipeweed habit repugnant, and has no intention of letting him indulge it within doors." A mental picture of the King forlornly puffing away outdoors in the icy cold rain of a Minas Tirith winter crossed my mind, and I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. The Prince, seeming to follow my thought as he sometimes did, laughed.  
  
"I think he will get compensation enough for his sacrifice, never you fear!" And I had to laugh as well.  
  
"So you freely admit that all men are louts, sir?"  
  
"Initially, at least."  
  
"And do you include yourself in that number?"  
  
"Indeed, though I am no longer a member in good standing. What you have here," and he straightened up and laid a hand theatrically upon his chest, "is the end product of many years of labor by a good woman. Verily, had I succumbed to the blandishments of one of the beauties of Minas Tirith, the poor woman would have had little to do--for I have been exquisitely trained, and how can one improve upon perfection?" I endeavored to give him my version of the Ironical Elven Eyebrow, but it must still have been lacking something, for it seemed to have little effect.  
  
"I think you should succumb," I told him. "It would do you good."  
  
"Indeed, you have mentioned your concern about my lack of a romantic life before." He settled himself back upon his pillows once more and gave me his full, undivided attention. "And what sort of lady do you think I should succumb to?" His grey eyes were very intent upon mine, and I grew both flushed and flustered for no good reason as I pondered my answer.  
  
"Well, there are certainly widows enough in Gondor right now," I said at last. One of his eyebrows arched far more effectively than had mine.  
  
"Widows?"  
  
"Yes, widows. Because things you have said have made me think you wouldn't want to wed a young girl." His mouth twisted in a wry smile.  
  
"Very well then, we have established the first requirement--a degree of maturity." I nodded.  
  
"And she should be a great lady, who knows the ways of courts, since you spend so much time there." The Prince considered this carefully for a moment.  
  
"Such things can be taught, you know. Nimrien cared not for courts at all, and spent as little time as possible at them."  
  
"I did not know that."  
  
"Well, it is true. But I shall stop interrupting since the Royal Matchmaker of Rohan is advising me, and if one seeks the opinion of an expert, one should listen to it." I smiled a little at his using the title I'd thought to give myself earlier.  
  
"She should like books and clothes and horses, since you like those things. And have a strong stomach so you can take her to sea."  
  
"Valar, Hethlin, I might as well put a wig over a mirror and marry that!" I glowered at him.  
  
"You said you were not going to interrupt!"  
  
"I know I did, but you leave me so few possibilities! Someone my age, who likes exactly the same things I like. What is the matter with marrying someone different from one's self? Exploring each others' differences?"  
  
"I don't know!" I said, suddenly frustrated. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elrohir give us a curious glance. "I've never been married! I don't even know if that works! Perhaps YOU should just tell ME what sort of woman you should marry." There was a long silence as the Prince gave me a very peculiar look, then he grimaced and picked up a book that lay at his side.  
  
"I think not, child, for it truly matters not. And as I said before, it is rather too late for that sort of thing. But I did not mean to upset you. Why do you not ride ahead with Elrohir for a bit? I am weary and wish to read in peace for a while." I watched as, true to his word, he opened the book and bowed his dark head over it. After a moment, feeling my gaze upon him, he flicked his hand at me without ever raising his eyes.  
  
"Why are you still here? Off with you now." I went.  
  
  
As we drew closer to Minas Tirith, Lord Elrond's mood grew darker, though he endeavored to conceal this, and the tension between himself and Elrohir increased. Elrohir did not take me to his bed, nor would I have permitted it, but we rode and talked together often, usually took our meals together, and of course he helped his brother with my arms training. From time to time I would look up to see Lord Elrond's brooding glance upon me.  
  
On the sixth evening out of Edoras, we halted somewhat short of the Min-Rimmon beacon. The Lord of Imladris did not stoop to quarrel within earshot of the camp, but he and his son went out into the night and apparently had yet another dreadful argument privately. Or as privately as they could--Elladan could feel Elrohir's distress and anger through his link, and Arwen certainly knew what was going on. Her beautiful face was dark and quenched-looking as she moved about the camp. The Prince, ever sensitive to mood, was troubled. As for me, the downside of my newly strengthened bond with Elrohir became very evident--my nerves were positively thrumming, and I found it difficult to eat my supper. Lord Celeborn had been teaching me how to shield myself, to block Elrohir out when I wanted some distance, but I was too inexperienced to deal with the emotional onslaught I was feeling now.  
  
Halfway through the meal, I felt movement beside me, and looked up to find the Lord of Lorien settling himself at my side. He indicated that I should turn about and face him, and I did so. Taking my hands in his, I felt his mind slide into mine. Suddenly, calm and peace washed over my mind in a soothing flood. I sighed, and slumped in relief, and he smiled gently.  
  
"I can see what we need to work on the most, Lady Hethlin."  
  
"Indeed, my lord," I replied gratefully. "Thank you."  
  
"You are welcome. Now perhaps you see why Elves avoid passion."  
  
"Aye. Elves, when they let themselves, feel things far more fiercely than Men, it would seem. Though you always appear to be very peaceful and serene, my lord."  
  
"I have only ever had but one passion in my life, and it has been enough," he replied with a smile, his silver-blue eyes flicking across the campfire, to where Lady Galadriel sat close to the Prince, conversing quietly. "Well, two actually. My daughter is very dear to me as well." He pondered thoughtfully for a moment, then added, "I love my grandchildren too--I suppose I am a very passionate fellow after all." The absurd contrast of his words with his gentle manner made me laugh, and that brought in turn a twinkle to his eyes.  
  
"That is better. Come now, let us see if I cannot help you with this. I have obviously erred somewhere in your instruction, for this is much more difficult for you than it should be. Attend me, child, and we will see if I can mend things somewhat......."  
  
  
With Lord Celeborn's patient instruction and reinforcement, I was able to shield rather better after a time, though I could still feel Elrohir's distress. When he returned to camp, he retreated into his tent, and after a moment, his brother followed him. Lord Elrond returned to the camp fire and started talking with the Prince, though I could feel the occasional glance in my direction. Rather uncomfortable, I rose after a time and sought my own rest in the tent I shared with Arwen, but though I lay awake for a couple of hours, my thoughts churning, sleep eluded me. Eventually, I got up, casting a glance towards my tent mate. Arwen was truly asleep, I deemed, her silver-grey eyes staring unblinking upwards. There was a tiny crease between her smooth brows, and her mouth was rather tightly held. I pulled my boots on as quietly as possible, and slid out of the tent.  
  
Save for the sentries, all were abed. After a moment's hesitation, I made my way over to the tent shared by the twins, and slipped inside.   
  
"Snowsteel?" came Elladan's voice softly.  
  
"Aye. Are the two of you all right?"  
  
"I am. As for brother......I am glad that you are here." My night vision was good enough to discern that he was lying close to Elrohir, and holding the covers up so that I could slip in on the opposite side. Removing my boots, I did so, finding my lover clad even as I was, in breeches and shirt. I spooned up close to his back, but when I did, he turned over, threw an arm about my neck, and tucked his head beneath my chin. He did not speak, but proximity made it easy to sense his grief and dismay. I tried once more to send warmth and comfort through our link, and ran my fingers soothingly through his silky hair. Elladan snuggled closer on the other side, until Elrohir was cocooned between us. I could feel a sort of echo from him, as he too tried to comfort his twin.  
  
After a time, Elrohir sighed, his breathing slowed, and a calmness descended upon him. Even without seeing his staring eyes, I was reasonably certain he'd fallen asleep, and was glad of it. Elladan spoke quietly once more.  
  
"Thank the Valar, or perhaps I should say the Dunedan. Mayhap I can now get some rest myself. He told me nothing of what transpired between Father and himself, other than to remark that he was certain that it was merely Father's grief over Arwen that was causing him to lash out so. Will you stay?"  
  
"For a time at least, to make sure he is really asleep. I could not rest either."  
  
"Well, a good night to you then. And thank you again, Snowsteel."  
  
"You are welcome, Elladan." I bent my head slightly and dropped a kiss on Elrohir's. He murmured something incoherent, and shifted even closer to me. I closed my eyes, and hoped that sleep would come at last. After a time, it finally did.  
  
  
I awoke abruptly, for no good reason, shortly before dawn. Perhaps it was anxiety that Lord Elrond should discover me in his son's bed. In any event, I was fully awake, and going back to sleep did not seem likely. Carefully, I slid my arm out from under Elrohir, and he murmured and shifted back towards his brother, till they were resting forehead to forehead, Elladan's arm thrown across Elrohir protectively. I smiled at the loving picture, imagining them as small Elven children sleeping in exactly the same way. Elrohir stirred once more, as I tucked the blanket back around him, but did not wake.   
  
Putting my boots back on, I crept from the tent surreptitiously, half-expecting to see Lord Elrond sitting there waiting to fall upon me like the wrath of the Valar themselves. Lord Elrond, however, must have had better things to do than ambush one puny Ranger, for he was nowhere in evidence. There was someone else sitting at the campfire, which had been built back up. He was watching a small teapot set over it upon a stick, barefoot, and clad in naught but a shirt and breeches. His head lifted, as I came out of the tent.  
  
"The tea is nearly ready, Hethlin, should you care to have some." His voice was pitched low, so as not to wake the sleepers nearby. I did the same, and hunkered down beside him.  
  
"My lord, what do you up at this hour? You should be abed."  
  
"I should," he concurred, "but I could not rest. Perhaps our Elven friends have affected me, for my mind is uneasy." He proffered me a slice of bread spread with honey, and I took it gratefully, my stomach suddenly reminding me I'd had little dinner the night before. "There seems to be something in the air....." I looked at him and wondered if he perhaps possessed something of his nephew's gift. He had the means at hand on a plate to prepare more honey bread, and did so for himself.  
  
"Do you think the caravan is going to be attacked?" I asked him, as he chewed his first bite. He swallowed deliberately after a few moments, then answered.  
  
"No, I think it is just Lord Elrond affecting me. He is a very powerful personality, and it is difficult to shut him out."  
  
"Elrohir says you shield very well for a mortal, that he cannot read you." The Prince cocked an eyebrow.  
  
"And has Elrohir been trying to read me?" I stared down at my bread.  
  
"A while back he did," I admitted. "I do not believe he does so any more."  
  
"That is good to know," said Imrahil. I could feel his eyes upon me as I ate. "Hethlin," he said at last, "Do you truly believe you could ever be free to love someone else bound as you are to him?"  
  
"He wants me to," I replied rather defensively. "We both agree that we should be free to seek lovers among our own kindreds. It is not truly a marriage-bond, and we neither of us asked for this to happen." The Prince frowned slightly.  
  
"Not when he first saved you, no. But you both made a conscious decision to become lovers in Lorien, knowing that the bond would be strengthened as a result. So you can no longer plead total ignorance of the situation."  
  
"I was not aware that I had to plead anything," I said rather stiffly. Imrahil threw up his empty hand in an apologetic gesture.  
  
"I am sorry! Apparently, I am as out of sorts as everyone else! I told you some time ago that your relationship with Prince Elrohir was none of my business, and I should hold to that. I simply worry about both of you, and yesterday was a distressing day for me, seeing the two of you so upset."  
  
"I appreciate your concern, my lord," I said, somewhat mollified. The Prince took up two mugs, and a towel that seemed to appear magically from nowhere, and poured tea for us both. He regarded me keenly over the rim of his cup as he drank.  
  
"Lord Elrond knows you were with Elrohir last night." Wincing, I picked up my mug and sipped from it in turn.  
  
"I thought he might. There's no help for it."  
  
"Do you fear he will take you to task about it?" I shrugged.  
  
"I have no idea, but there is nothing I can do about it if he does. I have already told him that I will not let Elrohir bind himself to me and die. He does not believe me. But I will tell him again if I must, for all the good it will do." The Prince's fingertips stroked his mug thoughtfully.  
  
"I have a suggestion, Hethlin, if you would be agreeable to it. Would you not enjoy a bit of a respite from this situation?" I admitted wearily that it would be nice. "Does not distance lessen the link?"  
  
"Aye, it does. Though Elrohir can sense Elladan from much farther away than he can me. Why?"  
  
"I would have you finish breaking your fast, dress and arm yourself, and saddle Caerith. I want you to ride to that inn your friends own up the road--what is it called? The Beacon?"  
  
"Aye, my lord," I replied, puzzled.  
  
"I will give you some coin, and you will have the landlady bake us some of those dried-apple tarts of hers, enough to go all around. I had one on the journey to Lorien, and they were very good."  
  
"Talith's apple tarts are legendary," I agreed with a reminiscent smile. "Father always used to get me some when we came there to get supplies."  
  
"Well, there you have it. Give Caerith a good gallop--he is faster than Fortune, and he has been rather rank this week. We will probably be a couple of hours behind you--time enough for Mistress Talith to work her magic. Wait for us there. You will get a bit of a break from all of this, I will have an opportunity to speak to Lord Elrond about this matter, which is something I've been wanting to do for a while, Caerith will get a good run, your friends will gain some custom from it, and hopefully, the apple tarts will sweeten dispositions all around. Everybody wins." I looked down for a moment, smiling a little at his description and noticing in passing that he had handsome feet for a man, slender and high-arched.  
  
"It does seem a good idea, my lord. Only you don't have to fight my battles for me." The Prince sighed, stood up and stretched, minding his mug as he did so.  
  
"Hethlin, the liege lord/vassal relationship is supposed to be a reciprocal one. I fully expect my vassals to be willing to lay their lives down for me at certain times, and at certain other times, they can expect me to protect them and their interests in situations where they have insufficient rank or resources to do so. This is one of those situations. Now get dressed, and Caerith saddled, and be ready to ride out. That's an order."  
  
"Well, if you put it that way, my lord...." I grinned, set my mug down, stood and bowed, then moved to my tent to begin my preparations.  
  
It was not long ere I stood before him once more, Caerith at my side as the sky began pinkening in the East. A small pouch of soft leather that clinked softly was produced and given to me. The camp was beginning to stir.  
  
"Get you gone while you still may, Hethlin," the Prince said with a smile. "You should encounter no trouble upon the Road, but may the Valar guard and guide you anyway."  
  
"You're the one who needs the guarding, my lord," I declared, "for you're the one remaining here with Lord Peredhil!" He chuckled, and I turned, kneed Caerith in the belly, and when the stallion oofed, tightened the girth the last two notches he had hoped I would forget about. Then I swung up, clasped arms briefly with the Prince, and set off into the growing light. 


	40. The Inn

Author's Note--Whew! The big 40! Thanks to Elizabeth Wyeth for the medical information, and to Altariel for continued inspiration.  
  
  
As Anor arose to the thunder of Caerith's hooves upon the road, I decided that the Prince had had a very good idea indeed. Though the day promised to be hot, the morning air washed cool against my face as I galloped towards Min-rimmon. The further I drew away from the camp, the weaker the unease emanating from Elrohir became, and the more I was able to relax. It had been a while since I'd truly been alone, and I had always enjoyed solitude, even as a child. And despite the fact that he was a scum-lover, Caerith was arguably one of the finest horses in Gondor.   
  
I smiled as I remembered how the Prince had offered me any of his other horses the day he had given me Fortune, up to and including the stallion he rode himself. And I knew that though it would have pained him greatly to do so, he would have given Caerith up had I asked. For a moment, as I savored his speed and smoothness of gait, his easy mouth and willing spirit, I almost wished I had. Then I remembered days of currying river muck off of him, and decided I was better off with Fortune. Caerith, who was extremely sweet-tempered for a stallion, had not really been rank at all the last several days--it was just the Prince's way of giving me a treat.  
  
After an enjoyable ride, I reached the Beacon about an hour after dawn. Drawing rein in the courtyard, I paused before dismounting. The senses I had honed in Ithilien as a Ranger were suddenly clamoring a warning. Stroking Caerith's sweaty neck, I surveyed my surroundings carefully, trying to determine what was amiss.  
  
The door was ajar. That in itself was not particularly notable--like most innkeeps, Merelan went to bed late and rose early. Not untoward to open the door to let in light and air. But if that were the case, then why were the shutters, which had been installed to protect the Beacon's precious glass windows, closed? I strained my eyes and ears to determine the nature of the possible peril, but ultimately, it was my nose that told me the truth. Upon a drift of morning air came a stench I knew all too well. There were orcs within the inn. And having determined that, now other things confirmed it. Faintly from within, I could hear the sounds of breaking crockery and guttural voices quarreling.  
  
A pang of sorrow smote me, as I imagined what had happened. Another band of renegade, leaderless orcs, crossing the Anduin, perhaps upon rafts. Making their way across scarcely populated eastern Anorien without hindrance, for no one patrolled those parts. Why were they headed westward? Perhaps they hoped to lair in the White Mountains. Or, as was more likely, they were headed into Dunland, to see if they could sell their services to one of the chieftains there. On the way, they could plunder the isolated homesteads of western Anorien.  
  
They must have come in before dawn, while the family slept. Merelan had been a soldier once, from things my father had told me--certainly, he had ridden with Father when the homesteaders had campaigned against the brigands. But torn from sleep, against numbers--even with a weapon to hand, he wouldn't have stood a chance. I hoped that it had been quick for them all, but knowing how orcs liked to torment their prey, I didn't think it likely.  
  
Muttering a prayer to the One for the family's souls under my breath, I turned Caerith and cantered out of the courtyard, half-expecting an arrow to fly out of one of the upper windows and strike me in the back. Let the orcs think I had realized my peril and sensibly fled the area--I had already decided that I would scout the situation out further. Not so far behind me were a host of elven heroes of the Second Age--more than enough puissance to deal with even a sizable band. Indeed, the only trouble I could foresee would be complaints that there weren't enough of the foe to go around! I decided to gather as much information as I could before they arrived.  
  
In a copse of trees a little way back from the Road, I tethered Caerith, hating to leave him standing while he was hot, but seeing no way around it. I contemplated shucking the hauberk, so as to be able to move more silently and freely, but decided to leave it on in case I met massed foes. Moving as stealthily as I could, I advanced through the trees till I had reached a vantage point behind the inn, halfway between it and the stables. Then I waited.   
  
About five minutes after I had settled myself, two things happened. From the darkened entrance of the stables, an orc emerged, a Mordor orc from his livery. In his hands he carried a dripping hunk of meat. I could only suppose that one or more of the beasts in the barn had just been slaughtered. The second thing was a scream of terror that emanated from the upstairs of the inn.  
  
"NO! MOTHER!" It was Betha's voice, and at the sound of it, my world seemed to lurch sickeningly for a moment before it righted itself again. One or possibly more of them were still alive--the attack must have happened right before dawn, shortly before my arrival. Betha, the shy, sweet-seeming girl who had been so fascinated by Elrohir, was trapped in the house with an undetermined number of orcs. A seventeen-year-old girl.......I knew what they would do with her, had perhaps done already. And I knew that my plans had just changed. No matter how many of them there were, I would have to try to deal with them. I could not wait for the others to catch me up, I needs must act now, for I could not guarantee that Betha would still be alive when the caravan arrived, or if she was, that she would wish to remain so.  
  
I loosened my sword and dagger in their sheaths automatically, and took my bow down from my shoulder and strung it. The orc was halfway across the yard when Elrohir's bow sang, and one of the lovely elf-wrought arrows he'd acquired for me against my protests thudded into its warty neck. Moving swiftly towards the stable, for I needed none of them coming in behind me, I saw another come hesitantly out into the growing light. He was blinded for a moment, and thus saw me at the same time my second arrow left the bow. He died soundlessly, a good thing, for surprise was certainly my friend in this endeavor. I stepped over his body and moved into the stable.  
  
There were no more orcs within, only a matched pair of draught horses and a couple of milch cows who stirred uneasily in their stalls, frightened by the smell of blood. What was left of the stableboy lay near the doorway, and I promptly lost my tea and honey bread in a nearby stall. They hadn't butchered any of the animals after all.........  
  
I passed a shaky hand over my suddenly clammy face. The cannibalism in connection with the plight of the girl bore more than enough similarity to my own past experiences that I was quite shaken up. Shamed though I am to admit it, it crossed my mind that I really should wait for the others, and that they probably wouldn't even blame me for doing so. Then Betha cried out again. Shuddering, I turned towards the inn, and tried to remember what I could about its layout. To the best of my recollection, the kitchen had a pantry room to the right, not far from the door, and there was a door to the common room upon the far wall. There were also steps down to the cellar. I would have to secure those areas and the common room itself before I went upstairs, for I could not risk being surrounded.  
  
The birdsong in the trees, increasing in volume as the morning brightened, seemed very incongruous when I thought about the horror that must lie within the inn. I moved towards the house at a slow trot, coming in from the side, for the back door too was open. As I approached, an orc came out the kitchen entrance, and in a rare show of personal cleanliness, prepared to relieve himself off the edge of the porch. Looking out across the stableyard, he saw his fallen companions, and was about to shout a warning or curse when my arrow took him through the head. He collapsed off the porch with a dull thud. Another one, hearing the noise, stepped out the door, and I felled him with a perfect shot through the eye. They were the last of the easy kills.  
  
Closing the rest of the distance in a rush, I burst through the door, arrow knocked. The kitchen, which I remembered from my childhood as a fragrant, welcoming place, was in a state of total disarray, with broken crocks and bins of food overturned, spread and smeared about. There were four orcs in the room, most of them the worse for drink, as witnessed by the keg they'd been partaking from, set upon the table for easy access. They staggered to their feet, cursing, when I entered, and the curses turned to screams as I fired.  
  
There is the sort of carefully aimed shooting one does in a siege when it is essential to make every arrow count. That was the sort of shooting I had done at Osgiliath and the Causeway Forts. Then there is the sort of shooting one does when one is plunging through the forest in a running battle in Ithilien, not so pretty or precise. Swift shooting without careful aim, firing fast at the bodies of your enemies to make a barrage of arrows thick and deadly enough to keep them off of you. The two nearest the door died first--I noticed that the elven arrows seemed to penetrate armor more easily than my usual missiles. The others were on the other side of the large table that stood in the center of the room, and I was able to pick them off in a more leisurely manner. It had been a while since I'd done any serious archery practice; nonetheless, the heat of battle sharpened my eye to its old standard in a hurry.  
  
Growling and thundering up the cellar stairs, two more burst into the kitchen, swords in hands, wiping their mouths--they'd been sampling the wine from the looks of things, and they fell right back down the stairs when I shot them. Then I had a difficult decision to make--should I go into the cellar far enough to make sure no other orcs were down there, and risk getting trapped by those that might come into the kitchen from the common room--or should I go into the common room, and hope there were no others in the cellar to flank me?   
  
After a long moment, I decided to go into the common room, with the hope that if any of them were left in the cellar, they were thoroughly drunk, and relatively harmless. And besides, Betha's wails were spurring me onward. The cries of my orc captors from long ago had begun echoing in my head, combining with the screams of my new foes, and a red haze was beginning to form around the edges of my vision. I gripped Elrohir's bow with a sweaty hand, and stepped lightly into the common room, my blood singing in my veins.  
  
To this day, I cannot remember clearly what happened next. I had already killed ten orcs, and I spent my last eight arrows in a furious volley in the common room, winnowing the drunken, belligerent contingent there down to a number of foes I could handle with my blades, always falling back towards the stairs near the front door so I would not be flanked, and could proceed to my ultimate destination. I have impressions only-- the flash and clamor of my silver steel against their dark, the jarring thud as my blades sank into flesh and bone, the feel of black orc blood soaking into my gloves and wrists. I think I took the slash down the outside of my left thigh there, as well as the broken toe from an armored boot smashing down on my foot, but I am not sure, and neither injury was of consequence enough for me to pay heed or even slow down.  
  
The Rohirrim have their berserks, and there are tales among my folk of extraordinary deeds done in the battle-rage, and I think I must have been in that place, for I felt no pain, and knew that I was invincible, swift death. By all rights, I should have died in the inn at Min-rimmon, and have no explanation for why I did not, other than the caprices of battle-luck, the fact that most of my foes were very drunk, and my state of mind, which enabled me to fight at a higher level of competence than I would have ever thought I could. Every bit of blade-craft or strategy I had ever learned from my father, from Faramir, from Mablung or the sons of Elrond seemed suddenly to coalesce into an accessible, understandable whole, and I used it all. The voices of the orcs faded, to be replaced by the voices of my teachers, advising and encouraging, and then their voices seemed to combine in turn into my father's, matter-of-fact and amused.  
  
"'Tis naught but Ranger odds, Heth-lass. Welcome to any ordinary morning in Eriador! Are you my daughter or no? Deal with them!"  
  
Being the obedient daughter I was, I did as he bade me, and dealt with them. I dealt them death, as Rangers had always dealt the Dark for centuries. The last one died at the foot of the stairs, falling beside Merelan's body which lay there as well, arms outflung, a bloody hole in his chest. I started up the stairs, taking them two at a time, hoping to reach the top before the orcs up there came out to oppose me. I almost made it.   
  
A voice was bellowing--"Ger off, you maggots! Time enough for fun later! Go down and see what bit o' spoil they're killing themselves over, and knock their heads in!"   
  
According to memory, the upstairs was divided into four large rooms, all connected by the one hall running down the length of the house. At the far end, stairs led up to the attic. The two outer rooms, having more windows, and being generally more desirable, were the guest rooms, holding four beds each. The two central rooms were the home of the innkeep and his family, and it was from one of these that the orcs poured. The first one reached me as I was trying to gain the landing, and managed to get a blow in against my head, but my helm held. Ears ringing, I skewered him through the gut, and wrenching my blade free, stepped past him onto the second floor. He groaned, and toppled down the stairwell.  
  
There were not so many upstairs, only four or five. It was close quarters in which to fight, ground not at all to the taste of a Ranger accustomed to outdoor combat, but it was ultimately in my favor that the hall beside the stair was narrow enough that they could only meet me one at a time. They came, and I slew them one by one, stepping over the body of my last foe to meet my next. At last I reached my destination--the door to the innkeeper's quarters. And had but a moment to peer within, to see that Talith lay unmoving upon the bed, her nightgown torn from her body, and that Betha was crouched sobbing in a corner, before the light was blocked out by a huge body that dodged my ready blade, lowered its head, and slammed into me amidships.   
  
The force of the blow staggered me backwards, and my foe wrapped an arm around my waist as we broke through the rail that surrounded the stairwell, and fell down about six feet to land in the center part of the stair. My sword flew from my hand at the initial impact, and the breath was driven from my body as I slammed into the stairs on my back with great force, the weight of the orc making matters even worse. Down we tumbled, end over end, and as we did so, the hand that wasn't around my waist grabbed my dagger wrist, claws sinking into my flesh.  
  
Though I tried to keep momentum going, keep rolling so that I would end up on top, it did not happen that way, and the moment we reached the bottom of the stairs, my foe released my waist and slammed his fist into my jaw. Stars exploded in my head, and I struggled to remain conscious. The same hand then closed upon my throat, and he sat down hard upon me, pinning my legs. We were lying atop both Merelan's body and that of the first upstairs orc. It was like the dream that Faramir had waked me from in the Citadel, only much, much worse, for it was real.  
  
My foe was a huge Uruk, bigger than the ones I'd seen on the Wold, and apparently cannier than the average orc as well. He had sent his underlings out to deal with the situation, listened to them die, and bided his time until he could attack in a way that would put me at a disadvantage. Contests of strength were not something I excelled at, preferring to rely upon speed and finesse. He, on the other hand, undoubtedly ruled his mob of followers by means of the iron fist he'd just nearly broken my jaw with. My free hand came up to try to force the hand upon my throat away, but it was like shoving against a tree-trunk. The hand tightened even more, and I saw black around the edges of my vision. He looked around the room at the remains of his band, and growled deep in his throat.  
  
"Quite the warrior, aren't you, Dunadan? Some of these lads were good'ns--we'd been together a long time. You're going to wish you'd broken your neck falling down those stairs before I'm through with you--I'm going to take you apart one piece at a time!" With brutal efficiency, he lifted my wrist and slammed it repeatedly against the floor till I was forced to release my knife. I heard it skitter off to the side, out of my reach. Then he released my throat, and as I gasped in a deep breath, backhanded me again. I slipped into blackness for a moment, hoping that Betha was at this very moment shinnying down sheets from the upstairs window so she at least could make her escape and my efforts not be in vain.  
  
When I came back to myself, the Uruk was on his feet, and lifting me by the neck. He had released my arms, believing me both subdued and disarmed, and indeed my poor, abused head was spinning. Its condition did not improve when he stepped over the bodies, and slammed me up against the wall beside the door.  
  
"You've got a scar on one cheek," he commented, drawing a long knife with a wicked, serrated edge. "I think I'll begin by making the other match." I made a protesting noise, hoping to keep his attention focused on upcoming amusements, and slid my right foot up the wall, as if I intended to brace against it and try to free myself. He laughed most unpleasantly, and pressed his body close against mine to pin me. The reek of him was nauseating, but he was actually supporting me at the moment, which was good, for I wasn't sure my legs would hold me. And he was using his left arm to hold me up, further good fortune, for that way he could not block my right hand, which brushed the top of my right boot.  
  
"Killed many Dunedain at the Black Gate, I did," he bragged. "You're not so tough as legend paints you."  
  
"You should.... believe legends when you hear them," I whispered painfully to him, my jaw aching, my throat tight beneath his hand. "They are usually....based on fact." He bared his teeth in a predatory grin, and pressed the point of his blade against my cheek. I felt it sink in the tiniest bit, and a drop of blood trail down my face. My fingers sought and found thin steel, a small, leaf-bladed knife sheathed in my boot top, balanced well enough for throwing if necessary, discretely hidden. A long knife was a very handy tool, but sometimes it was more than one needed, and this one was better suited for trimming fletches or cutting bowstrings. Or throats, in a pinch.  
  
The Uruk pressed harder against me as he prepared to cut with the knife. My left hand rose and tried to fasten upon his right arm, but it hurt horribly to use it, and there was no strength in my grip. He grinned in anticipation, then a surprised look crossed his face. His hips ground against mine experimentally, and despite myself, I gasped.  
  
"A woman, are you?" he exclaimed, rubbing my chest roughly with the side of his dagger hand for confirmation. I wriggled in protest, and the surprised look became a leer. "So much the better, then! No orc wench would be so forward--they stay at home with the whelps, as is proper. Let what happens now be a lesson to you about a woman's place, Dunedan slut."   
  
His dagger still in his fist, he dropped it down to start pushing my hauberk up.  
With the last of my waning strength, I made my right hand flash upward, sinking the small blade beneath his chin. It was a move learned not in battle, but from watching my father do the winter kill, a quick flick of the wrist. His hand fell away from my throat to clutch vainly at his own as his lifeblood poured out, and he tried to stab me through the eye with the dagger, but I was able to move just enough that it snapped against the stone of the wall beside my head instead.   
  
"Let this be a lesson to YOU, Uruk," I whispered to him as he sank to his knees, dying. I myself was sliding slowly down the wall. "Never gloat over a Ranger until you're sure she's dead." He toppled slowly to his side, gurgled for a moment, then expired.  
  
My bottom hit the floor, and I relaxed gratefully against the wall, turning my abused face to rest against the cool stone, and wincing at the pain in my neck, head and back as I did so. Now that the battle was over, I was shaking hard in reaction, and despite the fact that there were dead bodies were right next to me, I did not think I could move. The stench of blood and death in the room was incredible, and I could already hear the buzzing of opportunistic flies.   
  
A faint sound of movement on the stairs drew my eye, and I saw Betha descending, carefully holding up the hem of her nightgown lest it be fouled, her feet smeared with orc blood. She saw her father's body, and her face crumpled. A sob escaped her. Then she gave me a fearful look that turned into a relieved one, and I realized she had thought that I might have been killed as well. I knew that I should get up, reassure her, help her with her mother if Talith were still alive and with her father's body. Certainly I needed to get up and make sure there were no other orcs in the cellar. But when I tried to rise, my aching head started to spin, and blackness swept across my vision. I barely had time to croak, "I was not alone, Betha. Help is on the way. Don't worry," before I fell into total darkness.  
  
  
I was still not awake when, forty minutes later, Elladan and Elrohir, Glorfindel, Lord Celeborn and a contingent of warriors from both Lorien and Imladris poured into the courtyard in a flood of warlike elegance. Prince Imrahil was also with them, armed and armored for the first time since his accident, and mounted on Lady Arwen's elven horse. Poor Betha, who had divided the intervening time between caring for her mother still alive but unconscious, and me, in the same condition, who feared that neither of us would ever wake again and had generally had the worst possible sort of morning, took one look at her ethereally beautiful rescuers, and promptly fainted.  
  
  
Sun shining full on my face woke me, sun and the fact that I was feeling rather warm and headachy. I opened my eyes and blinked in the bright light. A hand took mine gently.  
  
"Hethlin, can you hear me? Shall I draw the curtain?" The Prince's voice.  
  
Remembering the uruk's bruising hand on my throat, and the pain in my jaw, I did not speak, but merely nodded very carefully. The hand left mine, and there was the chink of mail moving. He drew the fabric over the window, and I sighed in relief.   
  
"Would you like a drink?" asked another voice. Elrohir. I nodded once more, and he carefully lifted my head. I tensed, waiting for the pain from my neck and back, but it didn't come and though there was a twinge in my jaw, it was only a residual soreness. After a moment, I relaxed. Cool metal was pressed to my lips, and invigorating wetness flowed down my throat. My body craved that water, and I drank it thirstily. Then a second, smaller cup holding the same elven cordial Lord Celeborn had once given me was offered, and I drank that too. Unlike regular drink, it seemed to clear my head wonderfully. A few more blinks, and I was able to focus properly.  
  
Making an assessment of my own condition first, I found that sometime while I had slept, I had been thoroughly cleansed of blood and clad in fresh clothing from my packs. Also, I could feel a bandage on my left leg beneath my breeches, and my much abused left wrist and hand were bound up for support. It seemed that I had been settled into one of the guest bedrooms, for there were other empty beds in the room.  
  
"Caerith? Is he.... all right?" I said slowly and carefully. My voice was still rather raspy, pain lanced through my jaw when I spoke, and from time to time I could feel the hinge pop. All in all, an incentive for brevity. "He was.... hot when I left him, my lord. Sorry."  
  
"Caerith is just fine, Hethlin," soothed the Prince. "We found him shortly after we arrived."  
  
"What about....Talith? I wasn't sure.....she was alive."   
  
"She was, and Elladan tended her till his father and the others got here. Lord Elrond says that she should recover fully, in time."  
  
"Apple tarts indeed, Snowsteel!" came Elrohir's voice. I saw the Prince flinch in a way that suggested this had already been a source of contention between them. "Whatever possessed you to try such a thing? Why did you not wait for us?"  
  
"Oh, I wanted to," I told him with a grimace, my speech still very deliberate. "When I thought.....that everyone was dead. I was going to..... scout things out and wait... until you arrived. But when I found out Betha was alive........couldn't wait. I couldn't let them....do that to her. And I didn't know....how many there were." A drift of warm breeze came in the window, and with it, a really horrible smell. I knew that smell, having experienced it many times before--they were burning the orc bodies. Through the open door came the melodic tones of many elven voices, and the sound of much movement.  
  
"The elves are cleaning things up a bit," Imrahil explained. "We may not tarry here, but they cannot abide such foulness. The innkeep and that poor stable boy have been readied for burial, and I shall speak the words for them when their family is ready. I think we will have to take Talith and Betha with us when we leave, for we cannot assure their safety here."  
  
"I don't know.... if they will go, sir," I warned him. "This place....is their livelihood."  
  
"I was not planning upon giving them a choice, Hethlin," said the Prince rather grimly. "And I shall see that the King recompenses them for any damages to their business. But I cannot leave two women here unguarded." I sighed, and let the argument drop, for I hadn't the energy to pursue it. A soft knock came at the door, and an elf I'd not yet met looked into the room. He was a Lorien elf, clad in the greys of their border guards, and he held a sheaf of arrows in one hand. My arrows, I realized after a moment. Elrohir gestured him in. He entered, looked about, found my gear and quiver, and placed the arrows in it. Then he addressed me in slow and careful Westron.  
  
"Eighteen arrows, eighteen orcs. You did my handiwork credit, Ranger. Well shot. Well shot, indeed." I blushed.  
  
"You fletched my arrows?"  
  
"I did, at the request of this fellow here," and he indicated Elrohir with a smile. "I will own, I thought his claims of your skill were exaggerated by affection. I find now that that was not so. I have cleaned and mended them of any hurts they have suffered, and replaced one that was past any use. May they serve you so well again one day."  
  
"Hopefully, not any time soon!" The elf chuckled at my vehemence. "Thank you so much-"  
  
"-Haldir," Elrohir supplied helpfully.  
  
"Haldir," I repeated, and the elf sketched a quick and graceful bow, and departed.  
  
"He's a March-warden, and an excellent archer and fletcher," Elrohir explained. "Whenever we wager about something, I usually insist that his wager be arrows he fletched."  
  
"What does he....wager for?" I asked, curious.  
  
"Miruvor. He has a taste for it, and only the royal house has a steady supply."  
  
"And what do you....wager about?" Elrohir gave me one of his superior looks.  
  
"You are far too weak to be concerning yourself with such trivialities, Snowsteel." I gave him a warning frown, and he grinned, unrepentant.  
  
A whisper of robes came at the door, and I looked over to see Lord Elrond entering. He closed the door behind him, and glided over to look down at me. It was a position of vulnerability that I did not find reassuring in the least.  
  
"Ah, now both of my patients are awake. That is well."  
  
"How is Talith, Lord Elrond? And Betha?"  
  
"Betha is sleeping for now--I thought it best. She has no injuries other than some bruises, but she was in a very excited state. Her mother is as well as can be expected for a woman who was used in such a way. Very bruised from being thrown about, and she'd taken a bad bump to the head, but she will recover eventually. They were, of course, very grateful you had shown up when you did." That last remark was almost.....friendly. I gave him a puzzled look, then threw the Prince a suspicious glance. Imrahil was wearing his bland face of a sudden.  
  
Something that Lord Elrond had said nagged at my mind. A moment later, I realized what it was.  
  
"My lord? Betha?" He raised an eyebrow at me. "Did not the orcs use her as well?"  
  
"I saw no indication of it. Why?"  
  
"I had thought that.....well, I was worried I'd come too late." Was that a fleeting look of sympathy that crossed his face?  
  
"Too late for Talith. Not too late for Betha." My eyes prickled a bit at that, and the Prince gave my uninjured hand a sympathetic squeeze.  
  
Indicating that his son should vacate the chair by my side, Lord Elrond seated himself, then, with a look at me for permission, laid his fingers gently on my face, and started stroking it and my skull. A gentle feeling of warmth permeated my head, and the dull ache I'd woken with lessened.  
  
"This was the not worst of your injuries, though I will warn you that you'll be very sore and stiff for the next day at least. I am sure you have discovered that it hurts to talk. So try not to speak any more than is necessary." Elrohir, greatly amused by that instruction for some reason, snickered. His father shot him a quelling look. "We shall see that you have soft food to eat. If you would be so kind as to roll onto you side, please--I would like to have another look at your back." I did so, and ended up facing the Prince, who gave me a reassuring smile. Lord Elrond deftly pushed my shirt up in the back, while the Prince aided me in arranging the coverlet so that modesty was preserved in the front. His face became suddenly impassive, but I thought I felt a slight tremor in his hand.  
  
Elrohir hissed, all amusement gone, when my back was revealed.  
  
"It could have been far worse," his father commented. "The mail and gambeson spared her quite a bit. It was a wonder she did not break her neck or back. Or crack that rib she broke some time ago again." I wondered how he knew about that. As he had done upon my face, his fingers seemed to stroke the soreness away, though with my back and neck he pressed firmly on certain points as well. Lord Elrond and I were anything but friends, but I could not deny that his ministrations were soothing in the extreme, and I sighed in relief.  
  
"Does that feel better, Lady Hethlin?"  
  
"Aye, my lord." After all, one should give credit where credit is due. He continued his manipulations for a few moments longer, then pulled my shirt back down.  
  
"You may turn back over now--I wish to look at your wrist and hand." I did as he bade me, and he checked my fingers, apparently to make sure that they were warm, and could wiggle a bit.  
  
"I fear you will not be drawing a bow for some time to come. The bones of your hand are bruised, the knuckles torn and your wrist badly bruised and sprained. Try not to move it any more than is necessary--when you arise again, I will see that you have a sling. I will clean the claw marks again this evening--orc talons are filthy. The slash on your thigh is little more than a scratch, but I've cleaned and bandaged it, and we will keep an eye on it. Obviously, we would know by now if poison were involved, so you were lucky upon that count, at least." I had to admit, his bedside manner was excellent, very reassuring, and he seemed more comfortable relating to me as a healer.  
  
"I am going to give you a draught for your headache. Elrohir, in a few minutes I would like you to help her sleep again. That, in combination with the medicine, should set her to rights quicker than anything."  
  
"Yes, Father," Elrohir replied, suddenly the very picture of a dutiful son. I wondered what had transpired once I had left the camp. Lord Elrond rose, and started for the door.  
  
"I will look in on you again in a while, Lady Hethlin. In the meantime, try to get some rest."  
  
"Aye, my lord." He nodded in response, opened the door and departed. I looked at my two companions. Elrohir was expressionless, while the Prince seemed pensive.  
  
"You could not have known this was going to happen," I told Imrahil quietly. "It's not your fault." His brow creased, and he frowned slightly.  
  
"I should not have sent you out alone. You were nearly killed! Valar, I thought you had been, when we rode up and found you! Elrohir assured me otherwise, but it was still a bad moment." I patted his hand.  
  
"I'm a tough one, my lord, and I take some killing. But I forgive you, if that is what you are worried about." Imrahil gave me a rueful look.  
  
"You have a generous heart, Hethlin. And I accept your forgiveness with thanks. Forgiving myself, however, may take a bit longer. I am occasionally a bit too clever for my own good. Or, in this instance, for yours." He rose. "I'd best go see to Mistress Talith, if she's awake, since I'm one of the few mortals here. She might find it disconcerting to be surrounded by naught but elves." Elrohir gave him a look of mock offense, and for a brief moment, the twinkle was back in his eye. "Particularly these elves." I chuckled, and he went out the door, closing it behind him. Elrohir waited a moment, then carefully laid himself beside me upon the narrow bed, raising a slender hand to stroke my hair back from my cheek.  
  
"Ah, Snowsteel, I had a bad moment or two myself there. I could feel that you were in trouble. When I told the others Father was doubtful, but was overruled by Grandfather, who immediately volunteered to come with me with some of his people. Then Father had to send Glorfindel and some of ours, so as not to lose face should I be correct. At that point, Imrahil decided that he must join us, against Father's protestations. Arwen lent him her horse so that he wouldn't slow us down." He pressed his lips very gently to mine, no more than a breath's pressure.  
  
"It was very frustrating, for I knew that we were too far behind you to do any good. And I could feel you fight. You had the battle-rage upon you, didn't you?" I looked at him in surprise. "It has happened to me a time or two. Now that I know you are capable of it as well, remind me never to get you really angry!" I chuckled again, and carefully kissed his cheek. He sighed.  
  
"The Prince was distraught when we arrived and found you, for you were quite the mess, head to toe with orc blood. I had to keep telling him you were alive and not so badly hurt. He did calm down eventually."  
  
"He must have been feeling..... guilty," I said, stroking his hair gently in turn with my good hand.  
  
"Guilty or something," Elrohir agreed. "But then, he has had a busy morning." I gave him a curious look.  
  
"I was.....wondering about that. Did the Prince....talk to your father?" Elrohir grinned.  
  
"He started to. You will understand, I was not privy to any of it. But I know he started a conversation, Grandfather lent him some support about halfway through, then Grandmother stepped in and finished things." He shivered a tiny bit. "You do not ever want to get Grandmother angry with you, Snowsteel--trust me on this."  
  
"I hadn't planned on it--unless.....keeping company with you would do it."  
  
"Oh no! I gather she thinks you are rather sweet, in a pet-like sort of way." I frowned at him, offended, but he merely laughed.  
  
"Do not glower so, Snowsteel! She regards most mortals as such, when she regards them at all. Though she has always liked Estel, and seems to respect your Prince......You have to be one of the major powers--Sauron, Gandalf, the Valar, Morgoth, Illuvatar, to fully engage her attention. Or Grandfather. But now--Father has said you should sleep, and it is up to me, his obedient son, to carry out his wishes."  
  
"Elrohir, would you wait a moment!" I exclaimed in exasperation. "I want to ask..." But he touched my head, and all questions fled.  
  
  
I came up out of a deep and restful darkness reluctantly, aware that someone was patting my shoulder and speaking to me.  
  
"Snowsteel? Can you wake up?" I groaned, and opened my eyes, to find that it was Elrohir trying to rouse me. "I know Father said you should sleep, but the Prince needs you in the other guest room." I rubbed my eyes blearily, and carefully, after the bruises on my face made me wince.  
  
"What for?"  
  
"Some of your countrymen have arrived, and there seems to be some sort of argument going on. They are uneasy with the presence of all the elves, I think." I nodded. and levered myself up carefully with my good arm, swinging my legs out of bed ever so carefully. I looked at him, wondered if speaking mind to mind would be less painful, tried to contact him, and winced at the white-hot spike of pain. Resuming the more primitive method of communication I asked, "Would you mind....leaving for a minute?"  
  
"Whatever for?"  
  
"I need some privacy." He looked puzzled for a moment, then realization dawned.  
  
"Oh. Do you need help?"  
  
"Not for that, I don't." At his dubious look, I added, "I'll call you when I'm done. I will need help getting dressed." He nodded and departed, and I accomplished my necessary business, washed my unbandaged hand, dabbed at my face carefully, then called him back in. Elrohir slid my blue tunic cautiously over my head, belted my sword on, and mindful of my broken toe, pulled the soft black pair of elven boots onto my feet. He then deftly ran a comb through my hair, set my injured arm into a sling of clean white linen that had been left for me at some point, and helped me to my feet. Upon rising, I decided that horizontal was definitely the preferred orientation for me, but there was no help for it, and I proceeded out the door and down the hall to the room at the far end, leaning heavily upon Elrohir for support. He kissed my cheek, and left me at the door.  
  
"Grandfather wants me for something. I will be back later."  
  
Talith and Betha had been settled in the other guest bedroom, which had either been ignored by the orcs, or cleansed by the elves. Talith was awake, propped up on pillows, while Betha still slept. The Prince slumped rather heavily in a chair. He looked quite wilted in his armor in the early afternoon heat, and I was reminded that he'd had a far more vigorous morning than he'd been accustomed to of late. The severe look was also upon his face.  
  
There were three other men in the room, Sun-landers, with their bows on their backs and swords at their sides. I recognized the older man, Dorthan. He had been a friend of my father's. The other two resembled him somewhat and I assumed that they were two of the elder of his eight sons. Of course, he'd buried one wife, and married another, younger one-- so it was possible more had been born in my absence.......  
  
The Prince looked up at my entrance, and his expression softened. He stood immediately and offered me his chair, which I sank into gratefully. He settled upon a nearby bed instead.  
  
"Ah, Hethlin. I apologize for rousing you from your rest, but perhaps you can talk to these gentlemen. I do not seem to be communicating particularly well." I looked at the men, and smiled, and to my amazement, for Sun-landers are not known for bending the knee to anyone, they bowed.  
  
"It's hard to talk, but I'll do what I can. Dorthan Dorlansson, I am very glad to see you again. Are these your sons?"   
  
"Aye, Hethlin Hallaran's daughter. My second and third born--the first has a home of his own now. And we are glad to see you as well, lass. Perhaps you can explain to this gentleman that we do not need his help. At least the sort of help he offers. He wishes to take Talith and Betha away to the White City, and it is not needful."  
  
"Merelan is dead, and the Prince fears to leave them undefended."  
  
"They will not be undefended! I will leave my boys here, and ride out to tell the nearby families what has happened." 'Boys' was perhaps too diminutive a word for the hulking farm lads before me. "We will take turns guarding them, to see that the Beacon remains safe."  
  
"What of the harvest? You will be short-handed, keeping vigil here." Dorthan shrugged.  
  
"Those who do not guard will have to work for those who do. We do not fear hard work, we never have." I nodded, and turned to Talith. "Mistress Talith, what is your will in this matter?" She gave me a sad smile.  
  
"What would the likes of Betha and I do in the White City, lass? We have no kin there, no means of supporting ourselves. Why go but to return, even supposing the King would arrange for us to come back?"  
  
"I have already said that I would see to your care until it was safe for you to return, and to your return when it was." said the Prince with studied patience. Talith gave him a knowing look.  
  
"And when, exactly, would you consider it 'safe', my lord prince? We are no longer at war. Why is it less 'safe' now than when the Dark Lord threatened us all, and the Steward of Gondor told us that we had to look to ourselves, for he could spare no men to defend us? Besides, we take no charity from any man. We make our own way in the world." An approving murmur rose from Dorthan and his sons. The Prince sighed quietly.  
  
"It was not my intention to insult you, mistress, but merely to offer you aid where I perceived a need." Talith nodded.  
  
"And I thank you for your courtesy, my lord. But the Beacon was Merelan's whole life, and will go to Betha in her time, and I will not abandon it now." She gave me another smile. "Hethlin here has probably killed every orc that was in the area, anyway." I grinned back, embarrassed, and Dorthan and company chuckled. "You have offered to say the words over my man and poor Torthall, and I thank you for that, and would welcome it. Merelan would be pleased to have a prince lay him to rest. But as for going to the White City--we will manage well enough here as we are." The Prince looked at me for support, but I shook my head.  
  
"You'd best leave it, my lord. They understand the danger--it is a fact of life here. The Beacon is necessary for the homesteaders in this area--it is the one place they can get the goods they need. Betha and Talith will be protected as best their neighbors can. We look after our own, here in the Sun-lands." Dorthan nodded agreement with my words.  
  
"If you are that concerned, my lord prince," he said, "then have a word with that King of yours! Tell him that even a few of the right sort would make a difference." He turned his attention to me and gave me a beaming smile. "Twenty-nine, Hethlin! Eighteen with the bow, eleven with the sword! I doubt your father could have done any better." I blinked, hearing the tally for the first time, then snorted.  
  
"They were drunk. Had they been sober, you'd have needed my father." Dorthan laughed.  
  
"I'm not so sure about that, lass! There'll be songs for you here as well as in the White City!" I smiled what I feared was a rather sickly smile at that idea, but comforted myself with the thought that at least Elrohir wouldn't be writing them.  
  
"That 'King of mine' is your King as well, Dorthan, or do you not remember?" said a dangerously soft voice. All attention turned back to the Prince, who was on his feet of a sudden, his mouth tight-set and grey eyes flashing with all the affronted fury of a man of the ancient blood of Numenor confronted with an uppity son of the soil. Though I knew him well, I quailed inside a bit, and saw Talith shrink back against the pillows.  
  
But Dorthan Dorlansson was made of stern stuff, like all of the men who lived to see his years in the Sun-land, and he did not quail, but met the Prince's eyes squarely.   
  
"'Twas not Anorien that forgot, my lord," he said simply. "On this side of the mountains, it is as if we are out of sight, and out of mind. Sucking the hind teat, as it were. For the last two centuries, anytime we've asked for help from the Stewards, we've been told we're on our own. Is it any wonder that we would heed their words at last? I will tell you true--of late, there has been talk that perhaps we should ask Edoras if they have the Riders to spare to protect us, and that if the answer is yes, then it is to Edoras we should look."  
  
That genuinely shocked Imrahil, I could tell. Deserted though it was, Anorien held some of the finest farmland in Gondor, and it was a sizable chunk of the kingdom. Of all the perils that faced Aragorn's new-fledged reign, from the Haradrim and the Easterlings, and others of Sauron's vassals and underlings, no one had stopped to consider that we might loose a significant portion of Gondor to simple neglect.  
  
I saw that sink in, saw the Prince's offense on the part of his beloved king war with the simple logic of Dorthan's words. He took one deep breath, then another, and finally relaxed.  
  
"I apologize, Dorlansson. You have the right of it--if a vassal applies to his liege for protection many times, only to be refused, then he has every right to seek it elsewhere."  
  
Dorthan looked surprised, though whether it was because of the Prince's capitulation, or because he was still standing, I wasn't sure. It was probably just as well the Prince had no real Swan Knights escorting him, I thought, or there would have been blood on the walls by now.  
  
"It's as we told Heth-lass here, when last she passed through," Dorthan said carefully after a moment's silence. "If the king will send men to keep the orcs and Dunlendings off our backs, we'll pay him tax and be as loyal as he could ever wish. But if he tries to tax us without giving us any help--well, then, he'll have trouble on his hands. Not much, 'tis true--there are few enough of us left. But as much as we can make, and he may find that more than he can stomach." He turned to me. "You will tell him, won't you, Hethlin? You did promise, and now that Merelan's dead, it's more important than ever."  
  
I started to assert that I would, in fact, carry their treason to the king, but was interrupted by a soft voice from the door.  
  
"She will not have to, for I will in her stead." Lady Arwen stood there, a mug in her hands.  
  
"The Lady Arwen of Imladris and Lorien, bride to the King Elessar. Your future Queen, Dorlansson," Imrahil announced with a certain ironic satisfaction. He was not displeased, I noted, to see three jaws drop simultaneously. The father recovered first, and bent his knee most expeditiously. A whack to the knee of his bedazzled older son made him follow suit, and he in turn pulled the younger down. Arwen advanced into the room, and looked down upon them kindly.  
  
"Please, gentlemen, rise. I am not your Queen yet, and even when I become so, I think I would prefer to greet my subjects upon their feet." She moved past them to present the mug to Talith, who took it wonderingly from her hands. "My father sends you this, mistress, and bids you drink it. It will aid in your recovery."  
  
"Thank you, my lady," Talith murmured softly. Arwen turned her attention back to the men, who were now on their feet.  
  
"A Queen serves as another pair of eyes and ears for her King," she told them with utmost sincerity. "I shall bear word of your concerns to Elessar myself." They murmured their awestruck assent and acknowledgment, and thus it was that the incipient Anorien Rebellion was quelled, with a few well-placed words and a dazzling smile.  
  
  
Two hours later, as Anor was settling towards the West, a queen and a prince led the rites for an inkeeper and a stableboy while the elves made ready to depart, for we were going to ride deep into the night to make up for lost time. Two graves had been dug in the pleasant copse I'd spied upon the inn from, and as it turned out, they were not the only ones--Merelan's family had run the Beacon for several generations, and the family graveyard was there. Dorthan was present with his two sons, and Talith, leaning upon Betha. The Prince had done off his armor, and was clad in the finest of his tunics that was available, and a circlet he had borrowed from the elves. Lady Arwen was also finely clad, to do honor to the fallen.  
  
The Elves had readied the bodies, and shrouded them, and they filled in the graves when the Prince had done speaking. I thought Imrahil did a very good job, and wondered how many times in the course of the war he had performed this function. Certainly, he knew the words well enough, and there was a darkness in his eyes I didn't often see. Talith seemed most comforted and appreciative. Betha said nothing at all during or after the ceremony, but merely stood by her mother with the occasional tear coursing down her face. Lady Arwen watched her with sympathy throughout, and afterwards said something to one of her ladies, who returned forthwith bearing a cloth-clad bundle.  
  
She approached the girl, who looked up at her with wide eyes. Betha bobbed a quick curtsey, and Arwen laid a slender hand along her swollen cheek.  
  
"I go to the happiest day of my life, and I sorrow that I have been a part of your saddest one, Betha. I do not know when I will pass this way again, but I should like to leave you a token so that I may be in your thoughts upon a happier day as well." She handed Betha the bundle. Her mother and leaned over curiously as she folded back the outer cloth.  
  
Within was more cloth, a shimmering, cornflower blue. Small, embroidered flowers of many colors rioted across it. It looked like someone had taken a wildflower meadow, and tossed the blossoms up against a summer sky. It was the most extraordinary fabric I had ever seen, probably worth a king's ransom, and Betha and Talith both gasped.  
  
"For your wedding dress, perhaps?" Lady Arwen suggested gently. "If it pleases you, of course." Betha bobbed another curtsey, wide-eyed and speechless.  
  
"It is beautiful, my lady!" exclaimed Talith. "But you do not have to do this."  
  
"I wish to do this," she responded with one of her heartbreaking smiles. "And I think Betha would look well in it."  
  
Betha, whose blue eyes were her best feature, would look like an elven princess in it. Even I, fashion ignoramous that I was, could see that.  
  
"Thank you very much, my lady," the girl whispered shyly. Arwen nodded, and leaned close to whisper something in her ear. I could not hear what was said, but Betha looked comforted by it.  
  
"I am afraid I must depart now, but I shall carry you both in my thoughts," Arwen said. Mother and daughter both curtseyed once more, and Arwen left us. Imrahil looked after her with somber approval.  
  
"She will be an excellent queen," he said. "I am quite looking forward to this. Mistress Talith," and he turned his attention to her, "I am sorry if I offended you earlier. I was truly only trying to see to your welfare, and Betha's as well." Talith nodded.  
  
"I know that, my lord, and no offense was taken. Please, have a safe journey."  
  
"A safe journey would be a refreshing change, mistress. May the Valar guard you."  
  
"And you, my lord." The Prince looked at me.  
  
"It's the horse litter for you, Hethlin. Lord Elrond's orders."  
  
"But, my lord, what about you?"  
  
"I am well enough. I shall ride. Make your good-byes, for I suspect our elven friends are impatient to be off." And indeed, the caravan had assembled. "Dorthan, if I could have a word with you?" And the Prince took the farmer off. Mistress Talith embraced me very carefully, mindful of my bad arm.  
  
"We will always remember what you did, Hethlin, my lass. And if there's anything you ever need from us, don't hesitate to ask. You'll always find food and lodging here, and never a coin of yours will I take."  
  
"They did that to me, you know," I said quietly in her ear. "What they did to you. Will you be well?" Talith sighed, and nodded.  
  
"Well enough, lass. I am past my bearing years in any event, thank the Valar. And you spared Betha that fate, for which I will always be grateful."  
  
"I did not know I had, at first, but I was very glad to find out that it was so." Talith held me at arms' length and gave me a penetrating look.  
  
"Is that why you took up the sword, lass?"  
  
"Partly," I admitted. "And partly because of how my family died. But mostly because it was what I knew, Father raising me pretty much like a boy." Talith snorted.  
  
"Well, we are grateful he did, though I still think he did you no service. He would be proud of this day's work though, I think." She turned to her daughter. "Say your good-byes, Betha--her elven friends are waiting." Rather to my surprise, Betha enveloped me in a hug, fabric and all.  
  
"Thank you, Hethlin."  
  
"You are most welcome, Betha." She looked past me, over my shoulder, to where the elves waited. Her eyes grew wide. "There are two of them!" I turned, and followed her glance to where Elladan and Elrohir sat their horses, and grinned.  
  
"You're just now noticing? Aye, there are two of them. And four times the trouble, they are!"  
  
"Which one is yours?" she asked.  
  
"That one," I replied, indicating Elrohir. I was reasonably sure explanations about the exact nature of our relationship would be lost on her, so I simply answered the question.  
"Farewell, Mistress Talith. You too, Betha."   
  
They chorused their farewells in return, and I went to rejoin my friends, settling into the litter so that the journey to Minas Tirith might resume. 


	41. Amon Din

I slept in the litter for most of the rest of that day, waking only when we stopped in the night to eat some supper, and fall right back to sleep again. The next day and the day after that, the Prince and I divided time in the horse litter between us--I rode in it during the morning while he took it in the afternoon. That evening, we reached Amon Din. There, the Prince went to the outpost and using his authority, sent riders to Minas Tirith to announce our arrival. He returned to the camp, and sat down by the fire, watching the elves fix dinner, a graceful culinary dance.  
  
"I had originally intended to ride to Minas Tirith myself this night," he admitted to me with a weary smile. "I had hoped that resting all afternoon would give me the strength. But I fear I haven't the stomach for riding another forty miles this night after all."  
  
"You have been riding much longer every day though, my lord," I consoled him. "And you will ride into Minas Tirith tomorrow, as you had wished."  
  
"And sleep in my own bed tomorrow night," he agreed, with a smile. "And you can rest in that lovely room at the Citadel again." At my look of puzzlement, he added--"We never had the chance to move your things to the townhouse." I nodded my comprehension.  
  
"When is the wedding to take place?"  
  
"The day after tomorrow, according to Lord Elrond. Midsummer Day. A most propitious time. As the King's kinswoman, you will of course attend." I hadn't really considered that.  
  
"Will I be attending you, my lord?"  
  
"No, Hethlin, as Aragorn's kinswoman you will be in the King's party." I absorbed that and nodded once more. My brow furrowed as I pondered a possible problem. "Whatever shall I wear?" slipped out before I could help myself. The corner of the Prince's mouth twitched upward.  
  
"Ah yes, the eternal question......Well, if you will accept my poor advice, I would say that the dark red outfit you wore to see me before we left for Lorien is very attractive, as are any of the elven clothes you acquired in Lorien."  
  
"Hmmmm, that gives me...four, no five things to choose from, for I have another very nice outfit you haven't seen yet. I shall be needing a wain myself, if this continues," I informed him with a straight face. To my delight, he threw his head up in a gesture I'd not seen from him in a while, and laughed merrily.  
  
"Fortunately for you, I have the daughter who can tell you just where to get one!" At that moment, Lord Celeborn appeared, and conscripted me for my evening lesson, and I took my leave of him.  
  
  
Long as the summer days were, the Prince had sent his message while Anor still rode the skies. I had my lesson with Lord Celeborn, demonstrated to Elrohir that my shielding was much better by successfully blocking him out entirely, then ate supper with him as darkness finally fell, listening to Glorfindel tell the Prince about the elven city he'd lived in during the First Age--Gondolin, I think it was called. Truth to tell, the elven cities tended to run together a bit in my mind--they all had long, elegant names, and from what I could tell, they had all come to bad ends and long since been swallowed by the Sea. It was a rather sad reminder of how far the Firstborn had fallen since their heyday.  
  
Elves being elves, other stories and songs followed Glorfindel's. The night was far advanced, and I was just debating whether I wanted to lie by the fire and have a small nap before proceeding to my tent to sleep, or just go there and be done with it, when we heard the sound of hooves approaching. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel had departed some time back, to take a walk together, but the rest of us looked up, and I saw the sentries move forward, towards a pair of tall Gondorian couriers like unto the ones the Prince had sent out. The riders we had sent to Minas Tirith and those that had returned had both made good time, I thought, though it was certainly possible to do that if one had several fresh changes of horses.  
  
Haldir the fletcher challenged the riders in Westron, asking their business, but the taller of the two answered him in fluent Elvish, in a voice that brought the entire Peredhil family's heads snapping up in a hurry, and Arwen to her feet in an instant, her face alight. Her reaction told me his identity even before her delighted "Estel!" rang out. He dismounted, and pulled off his helmet, revealing that he was in fact the King, and the next moment he had his arms suddenly full of lovely elf-maiden, and was spinning her around off of her feet.  
  
Most everyone was watching this display, but my attention was suddenly drawn to the other courier, who was removing his helm as well, and looking about at all the elves with a slightly bedazzled expression.  
  
"Faramir!" I exclaimed, equally delighted, and the Prince looked in his direction and smiled broadly.  
  
"Faramir, lad! Who's minding the store?" He laughed, bowed politely to the elves that came to take the two horses away, and strolled over to us.  
  
"Hurin was kind enough to do so, but he was very nervous about the whole business, and I think it will be some time before he forgives us." We stood to greet him, and he embraced his uncle for a moment, then held him at arm's length, studying him, a slight frown upon his face.  
  
"Are you all right, uncle? You do not look well. You've lost some weight, I do believe." Imrahil chuckled.  
  
"That is not necessarily a bad thing at my age, lad! I am fine. I was ill for a little bit while we were in Lorien but I'm better now." He embraced Faramir once more, and when he did, he shot me a warning look over his nephew's shoulder. I gave him a tiny nod. If that was the way he wished to play things, then as my liege lord, I must obey him. He released Faramir, who turned his attention to me, took in my bandaged hand, and the fading bruises on my face, and frowned once more, complete with worry line. Stepping forward, he took me into his arms carefully, and gave me a hug.  
  
"And you, Heth, look at you! What have you been up to?"  
  
"Killing orcs. Many orcs, all by herself, lad," responded the Prince before I could think of what to say, bemused as I was by the close contact. "She--" He broke off suddenly, for something had caught his eye. I looked to where he was looking, as did Faramir, who released me, and found many pairs of eyes fastened intently upon Lord Elrond. He was standing by the fire looking down at Aragorn, who was now kneeling at his feet, with a totally inscrutable expression. There was a long moment when the only sound was the crackling of the campfire, and then Aragorn spoke.  
  
"My lord, I have done as you demanded. I am King of Gondor and Arnor both."  
  
"And I have done as I promised, son of Arathorn," the Lord of Imladris replied. "I have brought to you both the remainder of your legacy, and my daughter to be your bride, and when we arrive in your city of Minas Tirith, I will surrender them to you."  
  
"And will you give me your blessing along with my legacy and your daughter, my lord?" Aragorn asked, bowing his head and speaking so quietly he could barely be heard. "For you are the only father I have ever known, and it was never my wish to cause you grief." There was another long moment of silence. I saw Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel glide quietly up, watched Arwen watch the two people she loved best with her heart in her throat, and caught Elrohir casting a worried glance at me. Then Lord Elrond's slender hand lifted slowly from his side, and drifted down the rough black head in a gentle caress.  
  
"Arise, Estel," he commanded softly. "For of all the things I have demanded of you, I have never asked that you kneel to me."   
  
When Aragorn rose, they stood looking at each other silently for a long time. Lord Elrond's face was no longer emotionless, quite the contrary--regret and sorrow and anger and affection all seemed to flit across it in quick succession, only to be accepted and absorbed by the grey eyes so like his own that were fastened beseechingly upon his face with concern and love. Again, slowly and seemingly almost unwillingly, Lord Elrond's arms rose and embraced his foster-son. When he did so, Aragorn laid his head upon Lord Elrond's shoulder, his arms came up and clasped his foster-father tightly in turn, and Elrond sighed a profound and resigned sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul.  
  
"It is good to see you come into your own at last, my son," he said softly, "for I know that your labors have been long and arduous. And I have feared greatly for you these last few months."  
  
"As I have for you, father," Aragorn said, his voice muffled against Lord Elrond's neck. The Peredhil turned his cheek against Aragorn's hair for a moment, then straightened, and held him at arm's length, regarding him gravely.  
  
"Come, Estel, sit by the fire and tell me of this city of yours, what we should expect, and how we are to do this thing." I saw the tension pour out of the twins and Arwen; indeed, everyone seemed to relax at once. Smiling that beautiful, sweet smile of his, Aragorn gestured towards Faramir.  
  
"T'would be better to leave the telling about the city to one who has lived there his whole life, father. This is my Steward, the Prince of Ithilien, Faramir son of Denethor." Faramir bowed deeply as Lord Elrond turned to him.  
  
"My lord, you need no introduction. I would spend time with Mithrandir when he visited us, and he always had much to say about the wisdom of the Lord of Imladris. When I had the dream about Imladris, I wished to journey seeking it myself, but my father gave the errand to my brother instead, deeming him the hardier, or so he told me at the time." Faramir smiled a gently self-deprecating smile. "I suspect the true reason was that he knew if I ever found your libraries, he would not see me again." Lord Elrond gave Faramir an approving look.  
  
"I have been told that you are a scholar, my lord Steward, as well as a man stalwart in battle. It is a rare combination. You might indeed have appreciated Imladris more than your brother did, but though he was not a scholar, he was a valorous man, and I am glad to have known him."  
  
"Thank you, my lord," was all that Faramir said, but I could tell by his expression that he was both touched and saddened by the mention of Boromir. The exact details of his brother's death were something that even the Rangers had not been privy to, other than that it had been in battle, and had to do with the Ringbearer's quest. I knew that he had regretted not being able to lay Boromir to rest in Rath Dinen, though that might have been for the best, since the Stewards' mausoleum had burned and collapsed. And I had always thought that if Faramir's vision were true, the boat floating down to the Sea was a fitting end for a descendant of the blood of Numenor.  
  
His momentary sorrow, however, was soon replaced by awe and amazement, as the King introduced him to one legendary elf after another. I thought I saw a tiny bit of trepidation on the part of the King, as he introduced his Steward to his Queen. Faramir was a reserved individual, but he tended to form opinions of people quickly, as witnessed by his trust of Frodo and Samwise after brief acquaintance, and his almost instantaneous love for Eowyn. The King's duties would be much harder to bear if his chief advisor and the woman he loved disliked each other. There was no mistaking the relief on Aragorn's face when the two of them took to each other immediately, chatting like old friends.  
  
Everyone resumed their seats about the campfire, including Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. I ended up across the campfire from Faramir and the King and Arwen, at the Prince's side, with Elrohir upon my other side. For a brief time, Faramir explained about the city, and the ceremonies, which had been somewhat planned in advance, the King having apparently let him in on the secret at last. Some modifications to suit the elven guests were discussed. Then the stories began once more, and I watched as delight overcame him, made him expansive and joyous in a way I'd not seen since Eowyn agreed to wed him. He listened to the tales intently, eyes alight, and between stories conversed eagerly and fluently with the elves, speaking with hands as much as mouth, it seemed. His happiness made me smile, and when I looked over at the Prince, he was smiling as well. The King and Arwen also found his enthusiasm amusing, when they were not intent upon each other.  
  
Watching him, it occurred to me of a sudden that there was nothing I could ever do that would make him look at me with that joy, and my weariness came back ten-fold. Feeling my change of mood, Elrohir turned towards me. I felt his mind touch mine briefly, and his lips thinned, though his eyes were gentle.  
  
*Are you tired, Snowsteel?*  
  
*Aye, Elrohir.*  
  
*Well then, let us put you to bed, by all means.* He rose to his feet, leaned over, and with a gentle grip upon my good elbow, helped lever me to mine. "Father, Grandfather, Grandmother, Estel, my lord Prince, my lord Steward," he said aloud. "Snowsteel is still unwell, and she is weary. And tomorrow is a busy day, with a distance to ride. So we wish you a good night." And with no further ado, he took me by the arm and led me off to the tent he shared with his brother. I dared a quick glance over my shoulder to see Lord Elrond and the Prince almost equally expressionless. The King and Faramir both looked very surprised.  
  
*What do you think you are doing?* I sent to him as he walked me there. His reply was matter-of-fact.  
  
*Not what you think. I have no designs upon your person this night. But has it occurred to you that Arwen and Aragorn might wish for some time to themselves? And you share her tent.* That had in fact not occurred to me, but it made a deal of sense. I admitted that to him, though I added--  
  
*Are you absolutely sure that your desire for my company this night has naught to do with your wanting to show up Faramir or your father?* The evil twinkle surfaced suddenly in his eyes.  
  
*Honestly, Snowsteel, you are always so swift to attribute the basest of motives to me! If you think so badly of me, I wonder that you are willing to keep company with me at all!* My mental snort was answered by an actual chuckle as he escorted me into the tent.  
  
Once within, he was all solicitude as he helped me off with my boots, and folded back the blankets for me. He himself stripped of everything but his breeches, then slid in beside me, and took me gently into his arms. I buried my nose in the soft skin of his neck, breathed in the piney scent of his hair, and yawned.  
  
*If I could convince Father to help you, would you yet seek to win Faramir for yourself, Snowsteel?* his mental voice asked very quietly.  
  
I slid my fingers into his hair, and began to comb through it carefully. I loved the way it felt as it slipped silkily across my fingertips, and he seemed to enjoy that particular caress a great deal.  
  
*Nay, Elrohir, for he truly loves Eowyn, and would think it a betrayal. Or pity me. In any event, I would lose even his friendship, and I do not want to do that.*  
  
*Then you must accept that he will never be yours.*  
  
*I know that, oh wise and ancient one,* I agreed, snuggling even closer. *But it has been a very little time, even as mortals reckon it, since I learned that he would never be mine, and it still comes hard at times.*  
  
He sighed. *Indeed. Would you like me to help you to sleep?*  
  
*Nay. I am weary enough to do it on my own.* Another yawn corroborated my statement. *But I would like you to sing to me.*   
  
*You wish me to sing for you?* His mental voice was very surprised.  
  
*Aye. You keep saying you do not have a nice voice as your people reckon it, but I'm just a silly mortal, and I think it is beautiful.* Pleasure surged through our link, and I smiled. Needing no further persuasion, he began at once to sing softly to me in Sindarin, a song of the seasons and the plants and the trees, a summer-song. If it changed to anything else after that, I was not aware, for I was fast asleep.  
  
  
I awoke very early the next morning, I knew not why, for I had been very weary the night before. Though I did not recollect any particular dreams, I felt reasonably rested, with none of the disquiet that comes from bad dreams one does not remember. Looking to either side of me, I found the twins, their silver eyes staring peacefully upward. I got up carefully as I could, but their elven senses thwarted me and I woke them both anyway.  
  
"Snowsteel?" inquired Elrohir sleepily.  
  
"Go back to sleep, Elrohir--it's not dawn yet. I just can't sleep anymore." He nodded, and snuggled back down. Elladan mumbled something incoherent, and moved into the warm place in the blankets I'd just vacated, closer to his brother. The twins really were quite sweet when semi-conscious, I noted again, remembering the night not long ago when Elladan and I had comforted Elrohir.  
  
Pulling my boots on, I stepped outside, finding that several of the servitor elves were already awake, grooming horses, building the fires up and beginning breakfast. Besides myself, there was only one other person awake--a tall figure who stood upon the opposite side of the firepit, clad not in robes, but shirt and breeches and boots, his black hair unfilleted and falling loose about his shoulders. I saw him, and froze, and a wintry smile played about his lips.  
  
"Ah, Lady Hethlin," said Lord Elrond. "How fortuitous. Would you be so kind as to take a walk with me?"  
  
I could hardly refuse him. "Aye, my lord," I said, and fell in beside him as he walked away from the camp.  
  
"How are you feeling this morning?" he asked in a perfectly civil tone. "Were you in discomfort? Was that why you are awake so early?"  
  
"Nay, Lord Elrond, I am feeling very much better--thanks to you. I simply could not sleep for some reason."  
  
"Nor could I." There was a long silence as we paced over the dewy grass. Then he spoke again. "Your liege lord tells me that you are barren, due to orcs assaulting you some years ago. Is that true?" Surprised, I shot him a startled look.  
  
"Aye, my lord. After Lord Faramir found me, I was ill for weeks. I had several fevers. I was too ill to be moved, in fact--the Rangers were sure I would die. When the healers in Minas Tirith finally got a chance to look at me, they said I would never bear children because of the fevers, and because the orcs had......damaged me inside."  
  
"And outside too, it seems--I have seen the scars. How long did the orcs hold you?"  
  
"A week, I think. It took them three days to get back to the Anduin once they decided to leave, but they scouted around a bit first."  
  
"And they used you often during that time?"  
  
Despite my desire not to antagonize him any more than was necessary, my voice grew very dry. "I wasn't exactly keeping count. Everyday, though, and most of the troop."  
  
"I apologize. It is necessary that I know what was done to you." At my quizzical look, he added, "You have quite the advocate in your liege lord, you know."  
  
"The Prince is the very best of men," I agreed. Lord Elrond's mouth twisted in an ironic smile.  
  
"He is certainly among the very boldest of men! Few there are who would have the courage to chide the Lord of Imladris for what they felt was a lapse of duty, but he has done so. And upon reflection, I must admit his arguments have some merit. Therefore, after the wedding, and while I am still in Minas Tirith, I will endeavor to heal your condition, if it is possible and if you wish me to try." My amazement seemed to amuse him. "I am not quite the troll you think I am, Lady Hethlin." I blushed, and was grateful that the gradually lightening darkness would still hide it.  
  
"I am sorry, my lord." Lord Elrond shrugged.  
  
"Do not be. I have not been particularly kind to you. And in truth, I still do not like you. I think that this.....relationship.... you have with my son is ill-considered, and likely to doom you both to a great deal of heartache. But I am a healer, and where there is a need, I am compelled to meet it. There are things you need to know, however, before you agree."  
  
"Such as, my lord?"  
  
"Such as that I might not be able to help you at all. I will not know until I give you a thorough examination. And it might be that I would discover I could only help you partially--for instance, you might be able to conceive, but not bear a child without danger. In that case, I would not enable you to conceive, for despite what you may think, I do not wish to emperil your life." I nodded my understanding. "Also, depending upon what I have to do, you could be confined to a bed for a week or more when I am done. And you might be quite uncomfortable afterwards for a bit. Is this an acceptable consequence?"  
  
"A week or more of discomfort, so that I might have children? A more than acceptable consequence, my lord!" A ghost of a smile graced his lips at my vehemence.  
  
"Strange--I had not thought you the motherly sort, lady." My turn to shrug.  
  
"Perhaps I am not. Though I had a little brother and sister, and I never minded caring for them."  
  
"They perished with the rest of your family, did they not?"  
  
"Aye. The orcs roasted them alive while I watched." That halted him in his tracks for a moment, which surprised me, for I would have thought that he must have become quite inured to the horrible things that could happen to the innocent in war, given his age and experience.  
  
"Valar! I am sorry, Lady Hethlin," and he did sound genuinely remorseful. "I see now why you are a Ranger. And why the orcs at Min-rimmon were in serious trouble."  
  
"It's not quite like that," I explained as we started walking again. "Though that was certainly the reason at first. It's like I told Talith--part of it is simply because it is what I was trained to do, and I am good at it. I'm definitely no good at womanly things--ask Faramir!" Was that a tiny chuckle from the frosty elf-lord? I wasn't sure. "For the first couple of years I was in Ithilien, I did kill things, especially orcs, with the idea that it was vengeance for my family. But no matter how many I killed, they didn't come back, and I didn't feel any better. What did make me feel better in the end, was when I killed the orcs with the idea that at least I was keeping them from doing to anyone else what they'd done to me and mine. That was what truly helped."  
  
"Then you learned a valuable lesson far more swiftly than did my sons," Lord Elrond commented dryly, "Since for five hundred years they have been avenging their mother."  
  
"Elrohir spoke of her to me once. I gather he loves her very much."   
  
"Her departure devastated us all, but him it hurt the worst, I think," he said; then, after a sidelong look at me, added, "You will have noticed that he feels a bit.....inadequate...about his gifts."  
  
"Aye. The first time we were together it was in part, at least, because he wanted to help me. To be a healer for just one night, he said." Lord Elrond actually winced.  
  
"Arwen and Elladan both possess the capability to be gifted healers--but it is not a gift Elrohir received, except in its most basic form. He has the idea he is useful as nothing but a warrior, and though he is very close to Elladan, I think he sometimes feels that the three of us share a bond which excludes him. Consequently, he drew closer to his mother, who was also not a healer--and was also the less-gifted daughter of a very formidable mother."  
  
Frowning slightly, I considered what Elrohir's father had said. "I told him I thought he was drawn to me because what happened to me reminded him of his mother, and he thought he could help me where he couldn't help her." The Lord of Imladris nodded thoughtfully.  
  
"That may be in fact how it began, but I suspect there is more to it by now." I puzzled for a moment over what he meant by that. Surely he wasn't saying he thought Elrohir was in love with me? A bit shaken, I hastened to protest.  
  
"My lord, as I told you before--he promised me before we ever became involved that he would not fall in love with me and give up his immortality!" Lord Elrond gave me a sorrowful smile.  
  
"And that, Lady Hethlin, is every bit as foolish an oath as the one I made him swear to me! I fear that he will be forsworn to one or both of us before this is done, if he is not so already." He sighed, then turned, and began retracing the path we'd come. "But whether he is or no--I will help you if I can, once we are in the White City. For, among the other reasons that have been given me, if he ever did cleave unto you, I would not wish to deprive him of children. Come, let us return to the camp--breakfast will be ready ere long."  
  
  
When we returned, I parted company with Lord Elrond, who had no desire to breakfast with me, much to my relief. I was already halfway through a pile of those lacy pancakes at the campfire nearest my tent when I was joined by the King and Faramir. I started to rise, but the King forestalled me with a shake of his head and a smile. Faramir, though tousled and with the look of a man who had had little sleep, also seemed quite happy. The Prince came blearily out of his tent shortly after that, took one look at us, declared that we were all entirely too cheerful, and sat down a short way away to sip a mug of hot tea broodingly while we talked. There were times, I had noticed, when the Prince and Morning were not on speaking terms.  
  
"We heard quite the tale last night after you were abed, Hethlin," declared the King, folding one of the lacy pancakes into a neat package with his fingers, and inhaling it in two bites. "Glorfindel, Elladan and Imrahil told us of your single-handed attack upon the inn. An amazing accomplishment."  
  
"Thank you, sir," I responded, working swiftly to finish devouring my own pile of pancakes. "But it was not so extraordinary a thing as you might think. Most of them were drunk and half asleep."  
  
"That is not what Glorfindel told us, Heth," said Faramir, folding one of his pancakes as had the King, though he nibbled the edge of his experimentally first before starting in on it in surprised approval. The King looked over at him and grinned.  
  
"Good, are they not?" He promptly folded and devoured another one. I noticed he'd put a dollop of berry jam in the center before he folded them and wondered suddenly if I were eating them the wrong way. "I have tried and tried, but the Elves will NOT give me the recipe," Aragorn complained. Faramir finished his quickly, and picked up another one.  
  
"That is unfortunate--these are marvelous! Perhaps your Queen knows how to make them?" The King seemed much taken by that possibility.  
  
"There is a thought.....providing she does not require some special ingredients....I could have them every morning for the rest of my life." I looked up as a hand brushed my shoulder gently in greeting. Arwen had joined the circle, still clad in her nightrail and robe, her hair tumbling loose down her back.  
  
"You are assuming, my love," she chided Aragorn with a smile, "that I wish to cook leafcakes every morning for the rest of my life!" The King held a hand up to her, and drew her down into the circle of his arm. He then gave her an imploring look, which, while not quite as pathetic as Elrohir's puppy-dog-eyes, was nonetheless very effective in its own, roughhewn, noble way. Arwen, however, was unmoved.  
  
"I could perhaps be persuaded to cook leafcakes from time to time," she murmured thoughtfully. "Perhaps the morning after every day my husband did without that noxious pipeweed of his." Aragorn groaned, and the Prince laughed and came over, having apparently finally drunk enough tea to become awake and sociable.  
  
"It begins already, Aragorn--the civilization process! And you not even wed yet!"  
  
"You do not need her to cook leafcakes, Estel--you need her to negotiate your treaties!" said yet another new voice, and I smiled as Elrohir, clad in naught but his breeches and a blanket from his bedroll, settled himself beside me. His blanket-clad arm wrapped around me, and I placed a spoonful of jam in one of the leafcakes, folded it, and held it up to his mouth. An amused gleam in his eye, he devoured it in four dainty bites, then kissed my fingertips. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Faramir's eyebrow shoot up. A wicked impulse seized me, and I traced the line of Elrohir's ear with those same fingertips.  
  
"Good morning," I said softly as a shudder ran through him. Eyes hooded of a sudden, he turned his head and kissed the top of mine.  
  
"It is getting better all the time," he remarked. Faramir's other eyebrow joined its companion. The King chuckled.  
  
"It is good to see that you and my foster-brother have resolved your differences, Hethlin," he said, grinning. "When did this occur?"  
  
"In Lorien, my lord, " I replied with as much dignity as I could muster as Elrohir breathed deliberately into my neck. "Upon Cerin Amroth. It is a very beautiful place." Aragorn gave his bride a knowing smile.  
  
"Indeed. I have found it to be so as well." Arwen bestowed upon him one of her melting glances, their heads bent close together, and there was some quiet whispering for a moment. Faramir stared at me and the elf-lord in disbelief, and Elrohir flashed him a beatific smile. Then the Prince got up to go get some food, and Elrohir's free hand tossed something silver across the fire to the King, who, despite his preoccupation, snatched it out of the air with the reflexes of a peerless warrior.  
  
"It is more than time for you to give Hethlin that, Estel, don't you think? And if you do not believe me, then surely you can believe Elladan, and the Prince, and Glorfindel." What the King held in his hand was my father's Dunedan star, and annoyance that Elrohir was being high-handed again warred with curiosity over what Aragorn would say next.  
  
His big thumb rubbed thoughtfully across the roughened, bent place on the star as he stared at it in bemusement.  
  
"Valar, Hethlin, it is long indeed since I last saw this! How long have you been carrying it? And however did you keep it from the orcs?"  
  
"I have not had it long at all, my lord. Elrohir was kind enough to accompany me back to my home while we were on our way to Lorien. I wished to be certain that my family had been properly buried. We found it there in the yard when we were preparing to leave."  
  
"That must have been a difficult journey," he commented sympathetically, holding the star up to examine it further. "Though this was a happy chance. Did you find everything to your satisfaction?"  
  
"Aye, my lord." I turned to Faramir. "I wanted to make sure that Mablung had the right homestead, Faramir--there was more than one in the area. But he'd done just as I would have wanted, picked out the loveliest place for them." Faramir nodded.  
  
"I am glad to hear that, Heth." He had mastered his astonishment, and assumed the somewhat guarded expression he used when he was waiting for others to reveal their motives. "It was kind of you to escort her, Prince Elrohir." Elrohir beamed, an absolutely outrageous smile.  
  
"It was my very great pleasure, son of Denethor." I gave him a swift elbow to the ribs, he oofed, and the King and his sister laughed. Faramir did not.  
  
"Hethlin, I quite agree you are worthy to wear this," the King continued when he'd stopped laughing. "In fact, you'd done more than enough to earn it before this last trip. But I do not wish to bestow it upon you now, so informally. I have a time and place in mind that will be more appropriate. Will you allow me to hold this for a time?" Though disappointed, there was little I could do but nod, and trust that my sovereign had my best interests in mind. Aragorn turned his head, bestowed a kiss upon Arwen, then rose and gestured to Faramir. "We had best be on our way, lord Steward--Hurin will have both our heads if we're not back by noon."  
  
Faramir got up, rubbing his rump with a rueful smile. "It has been a while since I rode so far or fast, my lord. Are we taking the courier horses back again?" The King gave him an evil grin.  
  
"Oh yes. We can't have you getting soft now, can we? Not my right-hand man!" The Prince of Ithilien groaned.  
  
"And to think I believed the job of a Steward who actually had a King would consist of boring paperwork, leisurely lunches, and plenty of time to write poetry!" Aragorn slapped him on the back bracingly.  
  
"Well now you know the terrible truth! Let us be off! Imrahil, Elrohir, Hethlin--a good day to you. Arwen, love--you will be there by dusk, will you not?"  
  
"Yes, Estel, by nightfall. Fare you well."  
  
"And you as well, my love." They departed, and the Prince, who had returned to work upon his own pile of leafcakes, grimaced.  
  
"We should pack up in a few minutes as well, Hethlin. I would like to arrive there somewhat in advance of the caravan." I disentangled myself from Elrohir's blanket and arm with a smile, and the Prince addressed him. "Can you bring the fillies with the rest of the caravan, Lord Elrohir? I fear we will be riding too swiftly for them to keep the pace."  
  
Elrohir inclined his head graciously. "Of course we will, Prince Imrahil. It will be no trouble at all." I gave his shoulder a last, fond squeeze, and got to my feet.  
  
"You finish your breakfast, my lord prince," I said to my liege lord, "I'll start seeing to our things." Imrahil nodded his thanks.  
  
"I will be along in a few minutes, Hethlin. Be careful of your hand. I think between the two of us, we may possibly add up to one whole and healthy person."  
  
An hour later, despite our infirmities and having said our farewells, we were on the road, Caerith and Fortune trotting easily in the still-cool morning air. Faramir and the King had long since departed at the gallop, but they were going to change horses, and we had to make ours last. The Prince was silent for a time after we started, and I did not try to talk to him, figuring that perhaps morning malaise still lay heavily upon him. I was a bit worried about his ability to make an all-day ride, but knew him to be a sensible man, not prone to foolish displays, and figured that if he felt he could make the trip, then he probably could. Lord Elrond certainly seemed to trust his judgment in matters of his own health.  
  
When Amon Din was well behind us, and the Grey Wood upon our right, he finally spoke.  
  
"Some of us were having a great deal of fun this morning, were we not?" I thought for a moment, realized he was speaking of my behavior with Elrohir, and gave him a shame-faced glance.  
  
"I am sorry, my lord. I suppose that was not very knightly." The Prince laughed.  
  
"No, it was not very knightly, but it was very, very understandable! You love Faramir, but he has spurned your love and hurt you. It is only natural that you should want him to see that even though he has refused you, another very handsome man....or elf.... finds you attractive."  
  
"I guess that was what was going on," I admitted in a bit of a mumble. Imrahil gave me a keen-eyed look.  
  
"No guess about it--that was exactly what was going on! Aided and abetted by Elrohir. And it is all right, Hethlin. The only thing I ask you to remember is that while he may not love you as a lover, Faramir does care deeply about you as a friend. Do not hurt him for no good reason."  
  
"I wouldn't do that, sir."  
  
"Not intentionally, I know. As for him," and his brow furrowed thoughtfully for a moment, "he needs to get over that reflex he developed in the Rangers about keeping men away from you. I thought I caught a flash of possessiveness there, and he has no cause to be so where you are concerned. You are neither his kin, nor his betrothed. You have the right to be with whom you will, and to choose what husband you will, by command of the King himself." He looked at me very seriously. "Very few women have the freedom you do, Hethlin--use it well."  
  
"I will try, sir," I replied earnestly. His eyes fixed once more upon the road before us.  
  
"That is all anyone could ask of you," he said.  
  
  
We made fairly good time in the end, though of course nowhere near what the King and Faramir did. They had probably reached Minas Tirith by the time we stopped for some lunch, thoughtfully packed by the elves. The Prince and I did not arrive at the city gates ourselves until late afternoon. There had not been much conversation between us during the early part of the trip, but when we got onto the Pelennor, there was some talk, mostly about how much the restoration work had advanced in our absence. The King and Faramir had lost no time in trying to erase the ravages of war, and we were most impressed at all that had been accomplished. Arwen and her family would receive a very favorable first impression.  
  
I was rather surprised at the stirring in my heart when I first saw the Tower of Ecthelion gleaming in the sun. I had never liked Minas Tirith when I had had to visit it during the war. Perhaps it was because the city seemed a more welcoming place now that it did not lie under the threat of imminent invasion, or perhaps the work I'd done with Faramir and Lord Hurin had given me a sense of proprietary pride, but I honestly felt for the first time like I was coming home. When we passed through the gate to the salutes of the guard, Imrahil gave me a weary smile, speaking as if he sensed my thought.  
  
"Grows upon you, does it not? Most of the time, I think of it as too far from the sea, an ill-wrought warren of stone with too few gardens. But at times like this, it looks pretty good." He himself was beginning to look pretty grey, and I kept an eye out for him as we slowly ascended the winding road to the upper circles. As we drew near to his townhouse, however, he drew himself up straight in the saddle, and any air of weariness or illness he had suddenly vanished. I was taken anew with what a consummate actor he could be.  
  
There were two Swan Knights on sentry duty at the entrance to the courtyard. One of them saw us riding up the street, and pelted on into the house to give warning of our arrival. By the time we clattered into the courtyard, people were pouring out of the door. Lothiriel reached her father first, cannoning into him when his feet had barely hit the cobbles. He mimed having had the air driven from him, then embraced her with a happy smile.  
  
"Thiri!"  
  
"Father! You're back! We weren't sure when you would get here! Did you have a good time? Did you see the elf-women? How do they dress? Can you describe it to me? My dressmaker is waiting for the details. I have decided that I am going to set a new fashion."  
  
"Well! I suppose somebody must, and it may as well be you," he agreed, kissing her. "Yes, I saw the elf-women, and I will tell you how they dressed later. There might even be a bolt of elven cloth or two with the caravan we returned with, for a certain young lady, and for Mariel." Lothiriel cried out with delight. "There is certainly a rather expensive Rohirric filly with them," and he cast a pointed look at me. I ducked my head as Lothiriel cried out in glee.  
  
"Oh, you went through Edoras? How was Eomer? Did he pick my horse out himself?"   
  
"Yes, on the return trip. Eomer was fine. His sense of humor is as it ever was." I repressed a snicker. "We both picked your horse out, and it is a two-year-old, so that you will have an easier time of it. That was his idea. Do remember to write him a thank-you note." Somehow, I did not think that was going to be a problem.  
  
"For Valar's sake, Thiri, let someone else get a word in!" growled Amrothos, prying his sister off and reaching up and embracing his father in turn, a book with a finger stuck in it to mark the place in one hand. He was the smallest of the three princes by far--I had a couple of inches on him. "Father, do the Lorien elves truly live in trees? Did you stay in a tree house while you were there? How do they get essential goods up and down? I am thinking that they must use something like a dumbwaiter, but larger--perhaps with a system of winches and pulleys to make it manageable." The Prince gave his youngest son a squeeze and answered with utmost seriousness.  
  
"I am afraid that I did not give the movement of essential goods much thought at all, 'Rothos, so unfortunately, I cannot give you an eyewitness report. But yes, I stayed in a tree house. And it looks as if some of the Lorien elves will be visiting here soon, so I will see what I can do about arranging a meeting for you with someone who can answer your questions." Amrothos seemed pleased at that prospect, and released his father so that Erchirion could embrace him in turn. The second-born, rather saturnine sea-lord had no questions at all for the Prince, but embraced him and whispered something quietly to him instead. I saw the Prince's eyebrow shoot up, and a pleased expression came over his face.  
  
"Thank you, lad, that is good news indeed," he murmured, and Erchirion turned him loose just as a shout of "Grandy! Grandy!" split the air, and Elphir and Mariel and little Alphor came up to greet him. Alphor was very excited at the reappearance of his grandfather, and seemed to recollect him quite well.  
  
Deciding that now would be a good time to make for the stables, I slid off of Fortune and headed there, listening to the babble of greeting behind me with a smile. As I entered, a stableman came forward and took Fortune, removing my saddlebags and handing them to me with a smile.  
  
"There you are, my lady! I'll take him from here. You go and get some rest--I imagine it's been quite a trip!"  
  
"That it has," I agreed. "Would you see that he has a mash and a good feed tonight? He deserves it."  
  
"It will be done, my lady. We'll give his feet a going over too." I thanked him, and turned around--to find my way blocked by a very formidable-looking man with badger-striped black hair and piercing dark eyes. He was an inch shorter than I, but my size advantage gave me no feeling of confidence whatsoever. Every sense that I possessed about such things informed me that this was a very dangerous man indeed.  
  
"Lady Hethlin, you are one of the Prince's new esquires, are you not?" he inquired in a deep voice.  
  
"Aye, my lord." He looked me up and down, deliberately assessing. Somehow I knew he was not admiring my appearance.  
  
"I am Master Andrahar, Prince Imrahil's Armsmaster. You will be in my charge when you go to Dol Amroth, and anything I tell you to do you may consider as direct from Illuvatar to me to you--via the Prince, of course. Do you understand this?"  
  
"Aye, my lord." He gave me a falsely affable smile.  
  
"Well then! Having settled that, consider this my first order--you are to tell me what is wrong with the Prince."  
  
"My lord?"  
  
"Do not play the innocent with me, girl! I've known Imrahil since he was a boy, and long before he was married or had children. He has been hurt or sick, and he's hiding it. What happened to him during that journey?" I considered for a moment exactly how I should answer, watching the anger bloom in his dark eyes as I delayed. He was, I deemed, a man who would brook no outright defiance, but neither would he respect anyone who simply backed down from him.  
  
"From Illuvatar to you to me by way of the Prince, you said, my lord?" I inquired at last. His eyes narrowed, and his answer was clipped.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Though it was difficult, I caught the burning dark eyes, and endeavored to hold them with my own. "Then you must apply to the Prince for your answers, my lord, for he has forbidden me to speak of the matter, even to his family." I made as if to move past him, but he moved in turn to block me again.  
  
"The fact that he gave you such an order tells me something about the seriousness of what went on," he said softly. "You may be the King's kinswoman, and the Steward's pet, but do not make the mistake of thinking that either thing gives you any influence with me. We Swan Knights, knight and esquire alike, took the Prince from the Pelennor to the Black Gate and back again, through the worst that Mordor could throw at him, with nary a scratch upon him. You have him in your care for a pleasure jaunt to the Golden Wood, and he is sorely hurt. How is it that you were not harmed instead of him?"  
  
For a moment I thought about telling him about the arrows coming from one direction, and my moving to face them only to have the Prince struck from another. I thought about telling him about how I'd awakened to narrowly miss being shot through the head myself, then scrambled quickly as I could to shield the Prince. I thought about all the perfectly plausible excuses I could give to him, but I knew that they were not what he wanted to hear. So I gave him what he wanted, which was also in some measure the truth.  
  
"He was hurt because I was not fast enough." Master Andrahar stared at me long and hard, then sighed in satisfaction.  
  
"At least you have the mother wit to admit it. I must give some thought to how I will......amend..... this deficiency of yours. Do not become too comfortable in the Citadel among the high and mighty, Hethlin of Anorien. You will be in my charge soon enough." And with that, he turned abruptly and left the stable, leaving my own way out open once. more.  
  
Having been thoroughly put in my place, I sighed, shouldered my saddlebags, and started to trudge towards the Citadel. Crossing the courtyard, I glanced over again at the happy Dol Amroth reunion. The Prince saw me, and waved a smiling farewell. I waved back, then left the courtyard torn between satisfaction at seeing him happily reunited with his family, and the dismay I felt at finding that the man who was going to be responsible for my education for the next two years apparently despised me.  
  
Mulling these things over, I passed through the tunnel into the grounds of the Citadel, past the guards, who did not hinder me, across the great courtyard and into the building itself. The occasional person gave me a curious look, but I did not cause much comment--I seemed merely another dirty, sweaty courier, carrying dispatches. Up and up the stairs I climbed, till I reached the rarefied heights of the royal quarters. Again, I was not challenged, and at last I arrived at the door of the room that I had inhabited so briefly before the trip to Lorien.  
  
I hoped that the Prince was correct, that my things were still there, and that they hadn't been moved to a closet somewhere once I was out of sight and out of mind. I hoped that I wouldn't find that they had in fact been moved to the townhouse after all, and that I would have to return there. And I hoped that the door was unlocked, and that I wouldn't have to stand out in the corridor looking like a fool. In the last thing, at least, I was lucky--I turned the knob, and the large door swung open soundlessly. As I entered, I heard a couple of soft, surprised gasps.  
  
Stepping within, I looked about. The room lay bathed in the afternoon sunlight, much as I remembered it, with one exception. At some point during my absence, it had become infested with hobbits. 


	42. The Iron Lady

Author's Note--I had originally concieved of Lady Tirathiel as being Prince Imrahil's wife Nimirien's sister, but Soledad adopted her and developed her character so much more nicely in her story Seaside Conversations, that I discarded my original conception and went with hers of the Iron Lady, Nimrien's aunt, and possibly the only person Denethor was ever afraid of. Thanks, Soledad!  
  
I stepped into the room to find four surprised faces looking at me. Frodo Baggins was seated in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, a book in his hands. Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took were seated side-by-side upon the high bed, their feet dangling. And Samwise Gamgee stood in the door of the balcony, clutching a small potted plant in his hands, having nearly dropped it in his startlement.  
  
"Hullo, Merry," I said, he being the hobbit I knew best from our convalescence in the Houses of Healing.  
  
"Lady Hethlin!" he replied. "We thought this was a guest room. We did not know that these were your chambers."  
  
"They may not be," I said, going to the wardrobe and throwing the doors open. My clothes still hung within. "Hmmmmm. I suppose they still are." Seeing their puzzled looks, I grinned. "There is some question--I am supposed to be moving to the Prince of Dol Amroth's townhouse soon. And a week's stay is not a very strong claim."  
  
"We did not mean to intrude, lady," said Frodo, rising to his feet. "Come Sam, finish up there so that we might leave the lady in peace." Samwise, who had turned beet red, stammered an assent, and took his small green charge back onto the terrace. I draped my saddlebags over the foot of the bed.  
  
"Do not hasten off upon my account, gentleman. Glad I am to have the opportunity to meet Master Baggins and Master Gamgee again in more peaceful circumstances. And to meet Master Took for the first time, for though I have seen him in the city, we've not yet been introduced. I am curious as to what all of you are doing here, however."  
  
"Sam is tending the plants," said Peregrin Took, his voice slightly higher than those of the other hobbits. "And we are keeping him company. Besides, it is quiet up here. One gets weary of being stared at by Big People--even if they mean well," he hastily added. I chuckled, and began unbuckling my sword and bow and racking them..  
  
"No offense taken, Master Took. I imagine it is a bit of a trial. You do not need to go if you wish to stay a while longer in peace and quiet--and if you do not mind the company of someone who has been on the road and needs a bath. I had thought to ring for some tea, and you are certainly welcome to join me." All of the hobbits, even Master Baggins, brightened at the mention of food, and the Valar knew Frodo still looked like he could use some.  
  
"That sounds very nice, Lady Hethlin," Meriadoc said, after a quick glance at Frodo for confirmation.  
  
"I should say so!" exclaimed Peregrin enthusiastically. "There's this fellow in the kitchen who just doesn't understand the difference between tea and supper and dinner. 'But you have had your tea, little masters,' he tells us, 'and now must wait upon dinner, for though supplies are more plentiful now, who can say when trouble will come again? And it is difficult enough putting three meals and tea upon the boards for such finicky lords, without others wanting six. You have no idea of the trouble involved.'" I laughed.  
  
"I think I know the fellow you speak of. He gave me and a couple of my fellow Rangers a lecture upon the scarcity of chickens in war-time once, after we'd ridden here with Lord Faramir."  
  
Frodo looked enlightened all of a sudden. "You were with the Rangers, then? Is that why you said you'd met us before?"  
  
"Aye. I was there the day Faramir found you in Ithilien, and the Haradrim came calling." I shrugged out of my hauberk, and hung it on the rack.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I don't remember you, and I think I would," Frodo commented, gesturing towards my hair.   
  
"My hair was black then. This happened after the Pelennor," I explained. "And I only spoke to you once, when I was helping to serve dinner. The rest of the time I kept to myself in a corner and fletched arrows." Master Baggins gave me a very intent stare for a moment, then nodded.  
  
"I remember now. Sam and I thought you a lad."  
  
"Which was what you were supposed to think." I went to the bell pull by the bed, and pulled it, curious to see who or what would appear, then removed my gambeson with a grimace, and carried it off to the bathing room. Ducking back out momentarily to grab a fresh shirt and tunic from the wardrobe, I excused myself briefly from my guests.  
  
"I will be right back. If someone shows up, go ahead and order the tea." Then I closed the door, did a quick cat bath at the washstand, and changed into the fresh clothes. My return to the bedroom coincided with Felith's arrival.  
  
"My lady!" she exclaimed. "No one informed me that you were here!" She spied my bandaged hand and gasped. "You are injured! What happened to you?" The hobbits gave me curious looks.  
  
"I ran into some orcs on the way home. It's not serious, and it is healing very well." Thanks to Lord Elrond's ministrations, I added to myself silently. Felith was appalled.  
  
"You poor thing! Why those men keep letting you do such things is beyond me! Whatever is the King thinking of?" I frowned a little.  
  
"The King is thinking that I am a soldier, Felith, and a good one. I am going to be wanting a hot bath later on, but my friends and I would like some tea now, if that is possible."  
  
"I do not know if it will be possible or not," she replied, troubled. 'The kitchen is in an uproar. The King showed up at noon, and ordered a great feast for this evening. No one knows why. In any event, they are all a-bustle down there, but I will see what may be done." And she curtseyed, and left us. Meriadoc gave me a sharp-eyed look.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to know why the King is having a feast tonight, would you, Lady Hethlin?" I smiled knowingly at him.  
  
"Whatever would give you that idea, Master Brandybuck?"  
  
"Nothing at all--save that you have just returned from a long journey, about which you have said nothing, and now suddenly everyone is 'a-bustle'. The timing is a bit suspicious."  
  
"Unfortunately, I may not speak of my journey, or its purpose--though I suspect you will know soon enough. But I do know what is going on, and when you do learn, you will be very pleased by it, if I don't miss my guess." Suddenly, I found myself the object of a battery of bright-eyed hobbit stares.  
  
"Well! If we are to learn soon enough anyway, I don't see why you can't go ahead and tell us," wheedled Peregrin most beguilingly, but I held firm.  
  
"It is a surprise, and it is the King's surprise. It would take someone far more charming than you, Master Took, to wrest the secret from me in the face of Aragorn's wrath."  
  
"Someone more charming than Pippin? That shouldn't be hard to find!" snickered Meriadoc. Whereupon Peregrin promptly elbowed him, and they fell to good-natured bickering. Smiling, I began unpacking my saddlebags, took the Dol Amroth book out and laid it upon the table. Frodo started to reach for it with a curious look, but halted when I looked over at him.  
  
"By all means, Mr. Baggins, read it if you like."  
  
"I should not like to borrow it if you are reading it."  
  
"I am, but I can come back to it later. It is a book of children's stories written in Elvish." His look of interest deepened.  
  
"Indeed? I have not seen such a thing before, even here."  
  
"Then by all means, take it and enjoy it."   
  
"How shall I get it back to you, if you are moving?"  
  
"Give it to the King, the Prince of Dol Amroth, or the Steward--they would all see that I got it back. And even if you never did return it, Mr. Baggins, I would count it a small enough payment for what you did in the Dark Lands." Which was true, as much as I loved Faramir's gift to me. Frodo bowed his head, blushing a bit, as he took the book, but I caught an approving look from Samwise as he came back inside, and ducked into the washroom to cleanse his hands of dirt. There was a faint call at the door about then, and when I opened it, I found Felith there with a very large and overburdened tray containing a teapot, many cups, and a huge quantity of dainty cakes in tidy piles.  
  
"Thank you, my lady!" she gasped, moving into the room. I took the tray from her over her protests, and carried it over to the table, counting cups bemusedly as I went.  
  
"It looks as if you made a mistake, Felith. There is tea for nine people here."  
  
"Yes, my lady. But it is no mistake. There is tea for you, and the four hobbits. They are mighty eaters, the little folk. If you order enough for one person for each of them, they are not satisfied. So it is best and easiest to order for two. You have been much away, or you would undoubtedly know this." I stared at her in disbelief for a moment as she began to set things out, then looked around at the eager halflings converging on the table. Frodo had hurriedly moved the books out of the way so she could spread the bounty out, and Meriadoc and Peregrin were already reaching for cakes. Samwise made it back from the washroom very quickly.  
  
"Didn't you all tell me you had tea some time ago?" I asked.  
  
"Indeed, Lady Hethlin," Peregrin replied, heroically refraining from eating till he'd answered me. "But no supper. This will serve nicely for supper, and then we can eat at the feast tonight. We are all very much obliged to you, I'm sure." I just shook my head, pulled up chairs, and piled pillows from the bed to raise the hobbits to a level where they could eat comfortably. The two chairs were each large enough that two hobbits could sit in them, and they did so, Meriadoc and Pippin in one and Samwise and Frodo in the other. Felith looked at me standing beside the table with concern.  
  
"Shall I have someone fetch another chair, lady?"  
  
"Nay, Felith," I told her with a smile. "I've been sitting a horse for days now. Standing suits me well, or if I do need to sit, the floor will do just fine." Giving me a look that said clearly enough she thought I'd taken an injury that had addled my brain, she asked if there was aught else needed, and when I said no, withdrew to see about arranging my bath, shaking her head and muttering. Meriadoc chuckled.  
  
"I believe she thinks you are mad." I nodded.  
  
"Felith is accustomed to serving proper young ladies, which I am not."  
  
"She has not been in your service long, then?" inquired Frodo curiously.  
  
"Goodness, no! She is not in my service at all--I think she floats about up here and takes care of the ladies who are guests. I grew up on a small farm, Mr. Baggins, and thought I was naught but a farm girl. It wasn't till after the War that the King told me we were kindred from afar. I'm his third cousin, I think, on my mother's side. A distant connection, but he chooses to recognize it."  
  
"Third cousins are close connections in the Shire, lady!" exclaimed Peregrin. "Frodo and Merry and I are all cousins. Only Sam here is not related to us--and I think he's grateful for that!" Samwise's ruddy cheeks turned ruddier, and he ducked his head, muttering that Master Peregrin should not carry on so. I indicated that Frodo should pour if he wished, and he did with great care for the fine crockery, handing the first cup up to me.  
  
"Tell me about your Shire, gentlemen," I suggested. "My father and mother were both from the North, and moved South before I was born. I am curious about the lands of my forefathers."  
  
Well! Talk about opening the floodgates! Over the next pleasantly spent hour, we sipped and supped and talked about the Four Farthings, pipeweed, hobbit genealogy, smials and other topics dear to my small guests' hearts. Meriadoc and Peregrin were the most voluble, though even Frodo made his contributions. Samwise did not speak except to offer expert commentary upon farming and gardens, when we worked around to those subjects. I ended up sitting on the floor beside Merry and Pippin's chair (for Pippin insisted that I address him so), and looking up at them, which amused the hobbits greatly. We had absolutely demolished the tea, and were enjoying ourselves immensely, when Felith returned, all a-flutter.  
  
"Little masters! The King is looking for you, and asks that you attend him immediately!"  
  
Pippin leaped out of his chair. "Aha! The mystery will be solved at last!" Meriadoc gave me a meaningful stare as he got up, but I merely shrugged and grinned. Frodo and Samwise rose quietly, Frodo taking the book he'd come in with, and the Dol Amroth book after an inquiring look at me.  
  
"Thank you for the lovely tea, Lady Hethlin, and the loan of the book," he murmured, and the others chimed in with their thanks as well. Whereupon Felith ushered them forth from the room in a manner reminiscent of a goodwife shooing geese, while promising that my bath was on its way. My chambers seemed oppressively quiet and suddenly forlorn when they all had left.   
  
Smiling reminiscently, I went to the balcony doors, and opened them, stepping out upon it to view the vista of the City and the Pelennor that it afforded me. The plants that Samwise had so lovingly tended had grown greatly in the time I had been gone, some of them doubling their size, it seemed, and most were in bloom. There was a sweet fragrance about me as I looked and then found what I sought, a silver shimmer upon the Road, dimmed by distance.  
  
With the ease of much recent practice, I anchored, then sent a welcoming thought flying towards that light. A surge of pleased surprise answered me, then a wordless promise of eventual reunion that set my blood to tingling. Somewhat reluctantly, I broke the contact after a last sending of warm affection, and went back inside. Servants were bringing the ewers of water for my bath, and I was suddenly aware of how very weary I was.  
  
So while the King and his nobles, the wizard Mithrandir and his hobbit friends all stood in the twilight at the Gates of Gondor to greet she who was to be his bride, I washed myself and my hair, had a long, hot soak, and went to sleep between smooth, lavender-scented sheets, sinking with relief into a mattress that still seemed soft as a cloud.  
  
  
The next morning, I was roused from slumber by a sudden flood of people into my room. Eyes snapping open, I sat up quickly, clutching the sheet up high about my neck. Felith was there, fluttering again, and to my surprise the Princess Lothiriel, who gave me a cheerful smile and a friendly wave. There were also three women who were ladies' maids from the looks of them, burdened with armloads of clothing and small caskets.  
  
This expeditionary force was led by a formidable old woman clad in a dark blue gown of surpassing richness, her iron-grey hair screwed back in the tightest bun I'd ever seen.  
  
"I am Lady Tirathiel," she informed me, her eyes flicking over me coolly, "the Prince's chatelaine. After the welcoming dinner last night, at which I note you were not present, arrangements were finalized for the ceremony today. It was decided that the King would be attended by his Elven kindred and several highly-placed nobles of both Gondor and Arnor, and that the Queen-to-be would be attended not only by her elven handmaidens but by several gently-born maidens of Gondor. Thus will the unity between North and South be demonstrated."  
  
"The Queen-to-be," she continued, directing her women with concise gestures to lay the garments over the chairs and place the caskets on the table, "specifically asked that you be included in her party. Since I have been informed that you are without any maternal guidance, and have been so for some time, I have come to make sure that you will present yourself properly, and not disgrace your house or Dol Amroth. Where are your gowns?"  
  
Still half asleep, and rather taken aback, I answered her cautiously. "My clothes are in the wardrobe there." Lady Tirathiel moved swiftly to the wardrobe with the vigor and grace of a much younger woman, threw the door open, and flicked through my clothing with an imperious hand while Felith hovered nearby, looking as if she feared a reprimand. A few moments sufficed for her to complete her inspection. She turned to me with a frown.  
  
"I asked where your gowns are, girl! I see naught here but breeches!"  
  
"That is because I have naught but breeches, my lady," I responded, beginning to be angry at her high-handedness, but determined to be polite to the Prince's kinswoman. "I discussed this very same matter with Prince Imrahil as we returned home, and he told me which of my outfits he would deem acceptable. So while I appreciate your concern on my behalf, your aid is really not necessary. The matter has been settled already."  
  
Princess Lothiriel sucked in her breath, and looked at her great-aunt, eyes wide. The three ladies' maids gasped in simultaneous horror. Felith had the look of one who was wishing to be in another part of the Citadel, or another city altogether. Their responses told me that Lady Tirathiel was very seldom defied, which was confirmed by her next words.  
  
"It matters naught to me what Imrahil thought! Though he contrives to turn himself out tolerably well, he knows nothing of ladies' matters! And I tell you now, young woman, that no matter what the Prince said, you will NOT lope along in the Queen-to-be's train in breeches making a spectacle of yourself! If you have no gown, we will use of one these --if any of them fit-- or borrow or procure one somehow. You are a very large young woman, however, which does make matters more difficult. And we'll see that you're properly bathed while we're about it!"  
  
"I had a bath just last night!" I protested hotly. Lady Tirathiel gave me a scornful look.  
  
"Well, it must not have been much of one--your face is all over dirt! Imrahil did not tell me you were a complete hoyden!"  
  
"That is not dirt," I gritted, offended. "That is a bruise, got in battle!" The ladies' maids gasped, but Lady Tirathiel was unimpressed.  
  
"Well, whatever it is and however you got it, it will have to be covered! I do not generally approve of face paint for noble ladies, but there are times when it is warranted, and this is one of those times. You may use some of Lothiriel's--I know she has it, though she tries to hide it from me." The Princess looked sheepish, and Lady Tirathiel sighed wearily.  
  
"I wish someone had warned me of the magnitude of this task! We only have till a half hour before noon! Look at you--your face and hands are all rough and windburned, and your hair--your hair is nonexistent! And the less said about those eyebrows, the better--veritable hedges, they are!" She advanced upon the bed, and laid a hand upon the top of the sheet, which I gripped even more tightly, shrinking away from her. "Come child, we have no time to waste! Up with you, so that we may be about our business!"  
  
Anger and fear were swirling in a confused, chaotic knot within me, but I struggled to remain calm and civil. "My lady, if you would give me but a moment--I am unaccustomed to having so many people about me at such a time. If you would all leave for but a few minutes, then come back, I am sure I would be more comfortable." I needed time to get a robe on, amongst other things. Lady Tirathiel frowned.  
  
"What is this, country modesty? We have no time for your vaporish fancies, girl! Up with you now, and no more delaying!" And with a strength much greater than I had expected, she ripped the sheet from my grasp.  
  
I suppose that the gently-bred young ladies of her acquaintance must always have worn night-shifts to bed. My usual habit with the Rangers and on the journey had been to wear breeches and a shirt, and my habit when with Elrohir had been to sleep bare. I actually had night-shifts here, courtesy of the King, but the night before had been very warm, and I'd slept bare, enjoying the feel of the fine sheets on my skin, and hoping that my elven lover might show up. Consequently, when she tore the sheet away, I was revealed in all my damaged......glory.  
  
One of the ladies in waiting actually shrieked, and fled for the door. The second one fell onto one of the dress-draped chairs, almost swooning, while the third held her ground. Princess Lothiriel gasped, and her eyes widened even larger than previously. Felith gasped as well, and sagged against the wall. Lady Tirathiel blanched, but otherwise held her composure, though I could read in her eyes that she realized the magnitude of her mistake. I snatched the sheet back up.  
  
"Get out of my room," I said very flatly, trembling violently of a sudden and not sure whether I was going to burst into tears or vomit, but trying very hard to keep from doing either. "All of you, get out right now, and do not return. I do not care if you are the Prince's kinswoman, lady or that of the Valar themselves--you have no right to do what you just did! And since you are so concerned about the honor of Dol Amroth, Lady Tirathiel, let me assure you that I will not attend the wedding at all, thereby saving you the tiresome effort of rendering me respectable. Now get out! That includes you too, Felith--I do not wish you to remain either."   
  
Needing no further encouragement, the most stalwart lady's maid immediately hauled her swooning companion to her feet, and headed for the door, followed by Felith, who looked back over her shoulder at me almost imploringly. Lothiriel, scarlet with embarrassment, made a sort of conciliatory gesture with her hand. I ignored it, and she took her great-aunt's arm gently, tugging her towards the door. Lady Tirathiel paused, and looked as if she were about to say something, but I cut her short with the sort of snarl I usually reserved for combat situations.  
  
"Get you GONE, I say, my lady! And YOU may explain to the Queen-to-be why it is she will not have the pleasure of my company!" The two of them withdrew, closing the door behind them, and when I was sure they were gone, I put the robe at the foot of the bed on, rose, and locked the door behind them. Then I took care of my morning necessities, washed my face with shaking hands, and crawled back under the covers, robe and all, regardless of the growing warmth of the day, to tremble silently for a long time.  
  
Eventually, when I had begun to recover a bit from the violation, and as I had half expected, I heard Elrohir's mental voice on the other side of the door. *Snowsteel? What has happened? I could feel that you were upset about something. Will you let me in?*  
  
*Are you alone?* I asked.  
  
*Yes.* I got up, went to the door, unlocked it, and opened it for him. He had a white silk undertunic and dark grey breeches and boots on, and his hair fell unbraided about his shoulders. The fineness of the garb indicated that he must have been in the process of dressing himself for the wedding. I locked the door behind him, and he raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You should finish getting ready," I told him.  
  
"You should start getting ready," he responded.  
  
"I am not going," I replied.  
  
"Whyever not?" he asked in genuine puzzlement. "Arwen will be disappointed."  
  
"Ah, but Gondor will not be embarrassed." He frowned, took a step forward, and folded me gently into his arms. We stood that way for quite a long time, the occasional shiver passing through me.   
  
"Perhaps you should tell me what happened," he suggested at last. I touched his mind, and showed him instead, and as I did so, I could feel his concern turn to anger. His arms tightened around me.  
  
"What an old harridan!" he said when the tale was told in full. "'Tis no wonder they call her the Dragon Lady of Dol Amroth! When they're not calling her the Iron Lady, that is! I begin to wonder if this idea of Aragorn's is a good idea at all." I nodded as I rested against his shoulder.  
  
"She it was who was supposed to teach me court manners. I am sure that she thinks that is impossible now, and the Prince's Armsmaster is angry with me because the Prince got wounded while he was under my care. My future does not look bright in the Swan Lord's city." Elrohir dropped a kiss on my head.  
  
"Then do not go to Dol Amroth, Snowsteel--return North with us instead." I tucked my head beneath his chin, and stroked his slender back, warm beneath the fine silk of his tunic.  
  
"And do what, Elrohir? Sleep with you beneath your father's roof, in defiance of his wishes?"  
  
"Father will not be there forever. He intends to take the ship West very soon. Within the next five years, I deem."  
  
"Then perhaps when he does, I'll come North to see you. I will have finished my training by then. But I swore an oath and I can't break it. I won't break it."  
  
"You do not have to break it," he murmured soothingly. "I can speak to Aragorn and prevail upon him to release you." I stiffened in his arms for a moment.  
  
"Don't, Elrohir. I hate it when you try to manage my life for me."  
  
"I do suppose that is what that would be, now that you mention it," he admitted regretfully. "I am sorry, Snowsteel--old habits die hard. And I have some very old habits." I released him and stepped back with a sad smile.  
  
"I am very flattered that you would even want to change them on my behalf." Elrohir smiled slightly in return, wandered over to a chair, picked up a brown gown, and in a rather ludicrous display, held it up against himself.  
  
"Not my color, I think." I had to chuckle despite the mood I was in, and his smile broadened. "Are you sure you will not come to the wedding, Snowsteel?" he coaxed, returning the dress to the chair. "I will miss you, and so will Arwen and Aragorn."   
  
I shook my head. "I have said that I will not, and that is that. I shall stay here, and catch up on my reading. You go ahead and finish getting ready, and come back by when you are done so that I may see how beautiful you are." He started to say something--perhaps a protest or another plea--then changed his mind, and sketched me a most magnificent bow.  
  
"As my lady commands." I moved to the door, and let him out. Then I went ahead and got dressed in my Ranger breeches and boots, and one of my more disgraceful shirts. Felith was probably not much inclined to wait upon me any further this day, I thought, and I had had no breakfast. So after Elrohir returned for final inspection, I intended to go to the servant's mess and get some food, or out into the city, perhaps to the Red Dog. I should have liked very much to have seen the wedding, but it would hardly be the first important event of the age I had missed, and Lady Tirathiel's scorn made it difficult for me to contemplate being included in the wedding party without feeling like some sort of freak.  
  
I opened the doors of the balcony, to let in more air, and draped myself over a chair to read, trying to ignore the ever-increasing growls of my stomach. I had just succeeded in doing so when a quiet knock came at the door, and a quiet voice called out to me.  
  
"Hethlin? Are you there?" It was my liege lord, so I had no choice but to let him in. Unlike Elrohir, he was already fully dressed, in the most extraordinary silk brocade--deep blue diapered with silver thread swans. His jeweled coronet was on his head, a very ornately jeweled dress sword hung at his side, and you could have seen yourself in the mirror finish of his boots. He looked at my state of dress, and at the book still in my hand, and sighed.  
  
"Hethlin, would it help if I apologized on behalf of my house?"  
  
"Did you send her to me, my lord? Did you ask her to make me presentable?"  
  
"No! We were discussing the attendants last night, and Lothiriel had the idea that she would come and help you dress. She meant it as a friendly gesture, Hethlin, please believe that. Then her great-aunt decided that she had better oversee things. I did not know that she was going to oversee things to quite that extent. May I sit down?" It was then I realized that I was standing in his path, blocking him from entering further in some sort of instinctive defensiveness. I stepped aside.  
  
"Of course, my lord. Please, make yourself comfortable." He took me at my word, actually crossing to the bed and pulling on the bell pull before moving the dresses that draped one of the chairs to the other chair, and seating himself in the empty one. A few moments later, with suspicious speed, Felith stuck her head warily in the door.  
  
"My lady?" I gestured to the Prince, who looked over at her with a smile.  
  
"I rang, Felith. Could we have some tea?" He looked back at me. "Have you breakfasted yet?" When I responded in the negative, he added, "And some breakfast for Lady Hethlin?" She bobbed a curtsey.  
  
"Indeed, my lord prince. I will return as soon as I may." And she withdrew. The Prince leaned back in his chair.  
  
"Tirathiel is my late wife's aunt, and she has selflessly overseen the domestic side of things at Dol Amroth since Nimrien's death. She has been a mother figure for Lothiriel since she was a small girl. Unfortunately, as my chatelaine, she also has in her care any young ladies who come to my court. I say unfortunately because she has had to put up with a perpetual procession of decidedly silly females, most of whom are interested in pursuing one of my sons, or myself. This has made her somewhat brusque and impatient. She did not realize that you were something altogether different." I gave him a very flat look.  
  
"Actually, my lord, she did realize I was something different. She thought I was a motherless hoyden incapable of keeping myself clean, or dressing myself." The Prince winced. "And I am sure that you will next tell me that I should rise above this and present myself as part of the wedding party. What is right is the most difficult, and so forth and so on. You may even be correct. But I have been treated as if I were some sort of unwashed barbarian this morning, stripped before strangers who screamed and swooned at the sight of my unclothed body, and am feeling somewhat less than sociable as a result. I understood that Lady Tirathiel would be overseeing my courtly education, but surely you told her I would need more than three hours to complete the transformation to a proper lady."  
  
The Prince frowned slightly at that, steepling his fingers together. "I have not discussed you with her in any depth at all yet, Hethlin. But yes, now that you mention it, I do think you should eat your breakfast, get into some of those nice clothes the two of us discussed, and attend the lady who is going to become your queen today! You had said once that you were willing to do what you could to make her feel at home. She has asked you to attend her-were your words empty ones?" I glared at him in affronted disbelief.  
  
"Pardon me, my lord, but I am the injured party here!"  
  
"That is very true, but by withdrawing from the wedding, you are punishing the wrong person!" he snapped, then in a calmer voice, added, "I do not mean to make light of what you suffered in any way. And I hereby tender you my formal apology for what happened to you this morning at the hands of my retainers. I will make amends to you, if you will tell me what will make you feel better about this whole business." I considered this for a moment.  
  
"Lady Tirathiel knows she made a bad mistake, sir--I could see it in her eyes." Prince Imrahil nodded.  
  
"She did go to Lady Arwen, as you had commanded, and explained to her what she had done, and why you would not be part of the wedding party. She is a woman of honor." I plopped down into the chair opposite him, heedless of the pile of dresses upon it, stifling a tiny inner chuckle at his wince as I did so.  
  
"I did not think she was not. But sir, right now I am frightened that I will not do well in Dol Amroth. Your Armsmaster is angry with me because I would not tell him what had happened to you--"  
  
"--I know that, and I have taken care of it, Hethlin," the Prince interjected. "You did just as you ought to, as I had commanded, and I made that very plain to Andrahar."  
  
Personally, I wasn't sure that a reprimand from the Prince, if that was what had happened, would make the Armsmaster feel any better about me, but I kept that to myself. "And I know that Lady Tirathiel must think I am some sort of absolute heathen. If you could just explain a little about me to her, I think it would help. Tell her to be patient--I am willing to learn what she has to teach. But no matter what she does, or how hard I try, I will never be dainty and graceful and pretty. I'm sort of a river rock--you run a lot of water over it and it will polish up nicely. But it's not a gem." The Prince cocked an eyebrow at that.  
  
"An interesting comparison you make there, Hethlin. I think I would dispute it with you, though. You are anything but pebble-like. Aside from being rock-stubborn at times, of course....." I smiled a little at him, and he gave me a very serious look. "Will you not come, Hethlin? For however bad a morning you have had, Arwen would still be glad of your company." Regretfully, I shook my head.  
  
"I am sorry, sir, but I would just feel too......awkward. And freakish. Out of place."  
  
"No one you know, the people who truly matter, would think that of you."  
  
"Aye sir, I realize that. It is not so much what they think, but how I feel." Imrahil's brow furrowed, and his voice was tart when he answered.  
  
"What is more important than how you feel here, Hethlin is how Arwen feels. This is the most important day of her life to date, and we should be doing everything we can to see that it is a good one. For her sake, and that of the King we both serve. I understand that you must have been both shocked and embarrassed. I sympathize with your reluctance, and I will not compel you or command you to attend. But I will think the less of you, if you do not." He got to his feet, and started for the door.  
  
"'Think the less of me', will you?" I growled, jumping to my feet as well, thoroughly annoyed. "Would you treat Lothiriel so, my lord prince, or any other lady that had suffered as I had?" He stopped, and turned back to me.  
  
"But you are not Lothiriel, or any other lady. You are Hethlin Blackbow of Anorien." His lips twisted in a sardonic smile. "Oh, I am sorry. Is this is the part where I am supposed to pat you on the head and say 'There, there, dear, it doesn't matter.'?" His eyes, grey and deep as the Sea, bored into mine of a sudden. "I am not going to do that, Hethlin. Because it does matter. Because you are not Lothiriel, or Eowyn. And because I am very definitely NOT Faramir!" With that, he departed, closing the door behind him with a bit more force than was perhaps strictly necessary.  
  
I stood seething for a few moments after he left, then moved to the wardrobe and pulled out the other nice clothes I had told the Prince about at Amon Din. They were blue, but not royal Dol Amroth blue. Instead they were a duller, greyed blue that looked well with my eyes. The tunic was summer weight, and woven in a wavelike, abstract pattern, the breeches were slightly darker in color and plain weave. There was a shirt to go underneath, and it and the tunic were embroidered with threads of blue and grey and silver. All in all, a handsome outfit--but then, Elrohir had always had good taste. I had laid them over a chair, and was pondering where my grey elven boots might be when Felith returned with tea and breakfast.  
  
"Where is the Prince, my lady?" she inquired as she began to set things out.  
  
"He was called away, Felith," I prevaricated. "I imagine he will be very busy this morning."  
  
"Oh, that is unfortunate." Something in her tone brought a grin to my face.  
  
"I think you rather like the Prince, Felith." She pursed her lips up, but her face pinkened slightly.  
  
"There is no call for you to be talking that way, my lady, when I have a perfectly good husband of my own. Though I must admit, Prince Imrahil is a very comely man. And has such lovely manners! So many as come to stay here think of the staff as naught but pieces of furniture." I wasn't sure if that was directed at me, but it did make me feel bad.  
  
"I apologize for what I said earlier, Felith." She gave me a startled look.  
  
"Oh, my lady, did you think I meant you? No indeed! I understood that you were upset. I owe you an apology for carrying on as I did! Your manners are well enough--you are very easy to care for. No trouble at all." I sighed in relief.  
  
"That's good to know, but I'm going to be a little trouble now. Could you go to the Lady Arwen, and tell her I would be proud to be one of her attendants, if she will still have me? And then, if you would, please see to another matter. I had some Elven clothing and boots given to me in Lorien--would you try to find out what became of them? There is a grey pair of boots which would look well with this, but if we cannot find them, I'll wear a pair of my own. Mine will have to be polished, however." Felith nodded.  
  
"I will do that, my lady. You just eat your breakfast, and I will help you dress when I return. I am glad that you decided to go to the wedding."  
  
"Well, I've been thinking about it. If I don't go to these things, how else will I collect stories to bore the young with when I'm an old woman?" Felith laughed.  
  
"I very much doubt you will be a boring old woman, my lady! You'll probably be every bit as formidable as Lady Tirathiel."  
  
"Valar forfend!" Felith chuckled, and with a final admonition to me to eat up, set off in search of my boots.  
  
  
During Felith's absence, I addressed myself to my breakfast, which was so generous as to be hobbit-sized, and in truth, felt much better once I had done so. Pondering briefly if at least part of my problem had been that Lady Tirathiel had accosted me while my stomach was empty, I washed up thoroughly, and had got as far as I could with the dressing process when she returned, bearing with her my boots, my elven clothing, and Elrohir, who had completed his own garbing, and bore an armload of sundry items with him.  
  
He set his burden down, and straightened up, and I whistled appreciatively, which cause him to smile rakishly in response. His tunic came to mid-thigh, but the sleeves nearly dragged the ground, and were bordered in an ornate pattern of flowers in silver thread, echoing the pattern in the tunic itself. The hem and collar were also ornately embroidered. The pattern put me in mind of the work on Arwen's wedding dress, and I wondered if she had made it with her own hands. A circlet of wrought silver leaves and flowers sat upon his unbound hair, and a matching belt spanned his narrow waist. The flower motif, which would have seemed overly feminine upon a Man, suited him very well.  
  
"You look like a star that has fallen to earth," I told him. "A very flowery star." He grinned, pleased.  
  
"Given that my grandfather is a star, I suppose that that is fitting." Felith's eyes widened, and I once again had one of those weird, unreal moments when I wondered exactly how I had come to be involved with such a being. Sensing my thought, he gave me a concerned look.  
  
"Are you well, Snowsteel?" I shook myself.  
  
"Aye. Very well, in fact. What have you here?"  
  
"Some things I borrowed in case you needed them. I am very glad you decided to join us this day after all."  
  
"As am I," I said, surprised at the sincerity I felt. Elrohir handed me my boots, and I pulled them on. He then surveyed me critically.  
  
"Those look well," he commented, "but your old swordbelt will not serve. And you need something for your head. Here, I borrowed this from Glorfindel. See if your sword will fit." "This" was an ornate belt of interwoven silver chains of divers sorts, which clasped at the waist with a flower clasp. A beautiful scabbard engraved with more flowers depended from it. When I tried my blade in it, I found that it fitted perfectly, and when I clasped it around my waist, I found that it fit me as well as the sword. But then, Lord Glorfindel was the biggest Elf I had ever seen.... Elrohir was very pleased with himself, but I had some concerns.  
  
"Are you sure that Lord Glorfindel does not need this?" My elf-lord shook his head.  
  
"Valar, no! He's dressing in gold today. If I am a star, then he is going to look like a great big sun that just fell into the Court of the Fountain. 'Ware how you gaze upon him, Snowsteel--it would not do for you to be blinded by mistake!" I laughed, as did Felith, though she was rather quiet about it. Elrohir threw her one of his charming smiles, then picked up a floaty, silky, silvery cloak from the pile. Its purpose was purely decorative--it was too light to be useful and that was a good thing as warm as the day promised to be. It fastened with a fanciful curlicue clasp about my neck. Finally, he produced something I recognized--the slender star circlet I'd worn in Lorien. Indicating that Felith should comb my hair out, he waited till she was finished, then set it carefully upon my head. Stepping back to survey his handiwork, he smiled with satisfaction.  
  
"What do you think, lady?" he asked Felith politely. "Will she serve?" A bit startled at having her opinion solicited, Felith stammered slightly as she answered.  
  
"Indeed, my lord, she looks very nice! You have a good eye for such things." He acknowledged the compliment with a nod, then stepped forward and gave me a swift kiss.  
  
"I have to return to Arwen," he explained, "For I promised I would not be away long. All you have to do is meet me in the main hall a half hour before noon. The way it was explained last night is that we will process to the Court of the Fountain in pairs, Elven man paired with woman of Gondor and vice versa." He grinned. "Coincidentally convenient, wouldn't you say? Guess who my woman of Gondor is going to be?" I chuckled, very pleased that I would be escorted by him rather than a stranger. Though it might have been nice to be paired with Faramir...... "When we enter the Court, we will then part company, and split into the bride's and groom's parties, leaving a center aisle clear. Arwen and Aragorn will process up that to the Tree, and there they will be wed. After the ceremony, we will repeat the procedure in reverse. Simple enough?"  
  
"Aye. I think I can manage that." Another swift kiss, and he was gone out the door with a last, cheerful wave over his shoulder. Felith stared after him in sudden, astonished realization.  
  
"My lady, he's......he's your young man, isn't he?" I unclasped the cloak, and draped it over the dress-covered chair, for about an hour remained before the ceremony, and I did not want it crushed and wrinkled. Seating myself in the empty chair, I picked up the book I'd been reading before, and smiled at her.  
  
"No Felith, he's not my young man. He's my old elf." 


	43. The Wedding

****

Chapter 43. The Wedding  
  
Real Life has dealt me a number of blows over the last couple of months, including a broken right arm. Ergo the long silence. Thanks in this chapter go to Altariel, for letting me use (and modify slightly), her Gondorian wedding ceremony from her excellent story "A Game of Chess"; and to Soledad, for letting me borrow Lindir and Erestor from her equally excellent story "Innocence".  
  
  
When the appointed time came, I started down to the main hall to meet Elrohir. On the way, I heard familiar voices coming from an open room.  
  
"Faramir, I do not know what you think I can do with this! Your hair is even worse than usual. This part here looks as if it were gnawed off by rats!"  
  
"It was a royal rat then, uncle! The King and I were going over the plans for the reclamation of the Pelennor early this morning, and this front part here was too long and kept getting in my eyes. He said that watching me fuss with it was driving him mad (I suspect he was nervous about the wedding), so he cut it for me."  
  
"What did he use? His teeth?"  
  
"No, his belt knife. I was actually quite happy not to be bothered by it any more. But my valet was a bit upset when he saw me."  
  
"I can just imagine." The Prince's tone was dryly ironic. "You and Aragorn do realize that the war is over, don't you, Faramir? You don't have to hack your hair off with knives any more. You should have had your valet trim it." A horrible thought then struck Imrahil. "You didn't return the favor, did you?" Faramir laughed.  
  
"Oh no, Aragorn had just had his hair trimmed by Arwen's ladies, and said it was worth his life to have it touched, even though it was still longer than he preferred."  
  
"I wish he had taken you to them instead of trying this himself."  
  
"Uncle, they were in the middle of getting her ready. They had no time for me."  
  
"So now you come to me mangled, uncombed and unkempt, and expect a miracle at the last minute?"  
  
"Well, a comb at the very least. I know you always carry one about you somewhere."  
  
"You could too, you know."  
  
"Why bother, when I can always count on you?" Imrahil chuckled.  
  
"Untidy, lazy lout!" I stuck my head tentatively around the door. The Prince had Faramir's beryl circlet hung on his arm, and was combing his hair with an air of extreme concentration. Faramir spied me, but not wanting to incur his uncle's wrath by moving, waggled his fingers at me in a tiny wave. Imrahil, after trying to subdue a particularly stubborn cowlick, gave up for a moment with a sigh, turned and saw me. His eyebrows lifted, he looked me up and down a couple of times head to toe, then his mouth curved up in its usual warm and friendly smile.  
  
"Hethlin, child. You look lovely." I sighed in relief, as Faramir added his own approbation.  
  
"Indeed you do, Heth. Very nice indeed! Where did you get that beautiful scabbard?"  
  
I stepped into the room, which was a sitting room of some sort. "Lord Glorfindel lent it to me." Addressing the Prince, I asked, "Can I help in some way, sir? Find some scissors, perhaps?" Imrahil shook his head.  
  
"There is no time for that, Hethlin. But you can do something. I need three hands here." He handed the circlet to me. "I'm going to hold this little piece flat while you put Faramir's crown back on. We're going to tuck it under here, do you see?" I nodded, and waited while the Prince combed Faramir's hair ruthlessly into the desired position, then held it in place with his fingers. I carefully pressed the circlet down on his glossy black head, and the Prince did a deft little tuck. He then spent some time combing through the rest of Faramir's hair, surveying his work with some satisfaction when he was done.  
  
"There. That is much better." Faramir reached his hand up to touch the circlet, only to have his wrist immediately seized by his uncle. "No you don't, Faramir! It is perfect just the way it is. You need to stop all this fidgeting!" Faramir's eyebrow shot up.  
  
"Yes, Uncle Imri!" he actually lisped in a little-boy voice, and Imrahil and I both laughed.  
  
"I do not think I will ever become accustomed to this thing," he then complained in his normal tone, indicating the circlet while being careful not to touch it.   
  
"It is a burden you grow into gradually," his uncle replied, grave once more, and I knew he was speaking of more than a heavy circlet. Indeed, Faramir looked very princely, in a leaf green brocade tunic trimmed in black and silver, darker green breeches, and beautiful new black boots. But when I told him so, he grinned a little sheepishly.  
  
"You can thank Uncle for this, Hethlin. He found the time to order a few things made for me before he departed for Lorien."  
  
"I knew it would never occur to you to do it, lad," sighed the Prince. "Someone must take steps to insure that the royalty of Gondor presents itself properly." Something in the tone of his voice caught my attention, for he seemed suddenly rather uncharacteristically out of sorts. "Let us be on our way." As we proceeded down to the hall, Faramir asked me about my impressions of Lorien, "for I never had the chance to speak with you the other night." I had just enough time to start telling him about the trip before we arrived at our destination, whereupon he and his uncle were both engulfed by a crowd of people all of whom either had urgent business, or simply wished to be seen in their company.  
  
A fair number of these people were female, and I couldn't help but grin a bit as I got a close-up view of what it was to be the two most eligible bachelors in Gondor. Either his betrothal to Eowyn was not common knowledge, or the young ladies of Gondor simply did not care, thinking that they could perhaps cause him to break it, for Faramir was now coming in for as much attention as his uncle. He mouthed an apologetic "Later," at me, and I smiled and nodded and went on my way, only to promptly become lost in the ornately clad and colorful throng. The courtiers I had seen at Aragorn's soldiers'court paled into insignifigance here--literally every person who had any right to be here at all was here, and dressed in their finest. I started looking for Elves, but with no luck whatsoever, and was beginning to be worried, when I heard a stentorian voice at one end of the hall.  
  
"Members of the wedding party! Members of the wedding party over here!" it intoned. I followed it to where it originated, and found myself looking up at a very tall and thin gentleman with a sheaf of parchments in his hand. He looked down his rather impressive nose at me in disdain.  
  
"Clear off, lad! Members of the wedding party only!"  
  
"I am a member of the wedding party. Hethlin, daughter of Halaran, of the House of the Eagle. Check your list." He frowned.  
  
"And I am the Master of Protocol. I do not have to check my list--thanks to you, I had to re-write it three times this morning! I had to reshuffle all the escorts behind you in the procession, not once, but twice! Do tell me you have finally made up your mind!" I got a bit pink in the cheeks, but nodded.  
  
"Aye, that I have."  
  
"So glad to hear it!" he said ironically. "The first door on your right. Wait there until you are called for. And do not change your mind again!" I slipped past him into a quieter hall as he stopped another nobleman from trying to enter the area, and found the first door. Opening it, I found a sitting room--and myself the center of attention. Eleven pairs of eyes focused upon me, and I could hear muttering in the farther corners of the room, as its other inhabitants eyed my breeches and the sword at my side. Eleven of Gondor's finest ladies waited there, including Lady Tirathiel, who inclined her head to me regally, and Princess Lothiriel, magnificent in shimmering blue and silver silk, who after a moment, stepped forward to greet me with a smile.  
  
"Hethlin! You look very nice! Come sit down--there are refreshments on that table in the corner, should you care for any." I followed her to the couch she indicated, and seated myself.  
  
"Nay, lady, I just now finished my breakfast. I am well provided for." She sat down beside me, and addressed me quietly, a faint tinge of embarassment still present in her voice.  
  
"I am glad you decided to come after all, Hethlin." Knodding an acknowledgement, I decided that a change of subject would make her more comfortable.  
  
"Have you seen your filly yet?" She smiled with relief.  
  
"Yes, very early this morning. Such a pretty thing she is, too! Did Father not say that Eomer helped pick her out?"  
  
"The King of Rohan decided that you should have a two-year-old instead of a yearling, and your father said that he wanted you to have a filly. Then the two of them spent about two hours going over all the two-year-olds. Your father made the final decision, but he consulted with Eomer throughout and Eomer agreed that she was a very nice horse, and he was sorry to lose her. Your father then suggested that he apply to you for breeding rights."  
  
"As regards myself, or just the filly?" came Lothiriel's wry question. I looked at her, a bit surprised at the ribald jest, and caught the twinkle, so like her father's, in her eyes.  
  
Chuckling, I answered, "I believe the filly was the sole subject of the conversation, princess, though I do not think your father would be adverse to the match."  
  
"He has said that he is not--other than that I would live so far away that he would seldom see me. And that grieves me as well, though I would suffer it for Eomer....." Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of another young lady, a picture-perfect daughter of Numenor--tall, slim, dark-haired, blue-grey eyes. Her lavender gown was perfectly fitted, her hair and adornments chosen with exquisite taste, her expression one of barely-veiled hauteur.  
  
"'Thiri," she said, her tone of voice and manner of address indicating a long familiarity with the princess, "introduce me to your friend." Lothiriel looked up at her and smiled.  
  
"Jerulas, this is Hethlin, daughter of Halaran of the House of the Eagle. She is the King's kinswoman, and one of my father's new esquires. Hethlin, this is Lady Jerulas. Her father is one of the greatest lords of Belfalas." The Lady Jerulas' brow creased slightly as she surveyed me.  
  
"Indeed? The King's kinswoman? And an esquire? I thought you were the Steward's secretary. I am sure I have seen you about the Citadel."  
  
"You may have, lady. I was the Steward's secretary for a time, after I was wounded during the retreat. Before that, I was one of his Rangers."  
  
"There was a rumor to that effect," she conceded. "And now you are to be a Swan Knight?" I nodded. Her eyebrow arched, a dark and delicate feather. "How extraordinary. I wonder what you are doing here?"  
  
Since I'd been wondering that very thing myself off and on all morning, I could hardly take offense at the question. "The Lady Arwen asked that I be included," I answered honestly. "It was not my idea at all." Lady Jerulas smiled, an expression as cloyingly sweet as Faramir's honeyed tea.  
  
"Well, my dear, you must just accept that no matter how disconcerting it is to find yourself in such company, the Lady Arwen and the King have your best interests at heart. If they feel that your being here this morning is a good way to start rebuilding your reputation, you should listen to them. After all, there are rather more ladies than men available right now, and if you are seriously interested in acquiring a husband, you must realize that you are decidedly handicapped by the stories about you."  
  
"What stories?" I asked flatly. Having become familiar with that particular tone in my voice just this very morning, Princess Lothiriel laid a cautious hand upon my arm. Lady Jerulas answered readily enough, though her expression was fraught with feigned reluctance.  
  
"Surely you can understand that spending several years alone in the wild as the lone woman in the company of two hundred men, many of them from the lower social orders, is not going to enhance your reputation as a lady of virtue? How can you expect people to believe that you were chaste, and not being shared among the Rangers?"  
  
"Anyone who knows Faramir's ability to command his men would believe that were possible," I said in the same toneless voice. The sudden, sick anger I was supressing was making my stomach hurt, and making me regret I'd eaten such a large breakfast. Lothiriel frowned but Jerulas continued, her manner that of solicitous concern.  
  
"Ah, but though the Prince is well-loved by the people, he is not particularly well-known, being such a private person. Most people judge only by circumstances. And yours, you must admit, are highly unusual. Yes indeed, it is best that you pay heed to Lady Arwen and the King--they are the best people to help you with your current difficulties. So very nice to meet you." She curtseyed to Lothiriel and departed, leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth. Lothiriel gave me a sympathetic smile.  
  
"Ignore her, Hethlin--Jerulas' spleen has always been larger than her brain."  
  
"Do people really think that about me?"  
  
"Only the small-minded ones, Hethlin," she assured me, unconsciously echoing her father. "No one who matters does."  
  
"I hate this sort of thing!" I exclaimed in a low voice. "All this back-biting, and name-calling and seeming niceness laid over cruelty! The battlefield is much more straightforward!" Lothiriel's eyebrows soared up and she gave me a very droll look.  
  
"Hethlin, whatever made you think you weren't on a battlefield right now?" I stared at her, surprised, and she nodded.  
  
"If you think of court in those terms, you may be better able to understand what goes on."  
  
  
Before she could expound further upon that idea, which rather intrigued me, our elven escorts arrived. Lord Celeborn took Lady Tirathiel on his arm, while Lord Glorfindel escorted Princess Lothiriel. Elrohir had been right--Glorfindel was quite the glittering figure in pale gold silk embroidered all over with flowers in gold thread, and I stopped worrying about having deprived him of his scabbard, for he had an equally nice one in gold. Elrohir then stepped forward to claim me. He cast an eye about the room, then laid a hand along my cheek and kissed me softly before taking my arm with an evil grin. Murmurs arose, and his grin broadened. As for me, I was blushing horribly, and couldn't seem to stop. Elladan got the unenviable priviledge of escorting Lady Jerulas, and others of the royal houses of Imladris and Lorien took their escorts in hand. There was a brief delay as one young lady, overcome by the beauty of her partner, an exquisite blonde elf whose name was apparently Lindir, swooned and had to be swiftly revived.  
  
Then poor Lindir, who, it turned out, was a very sheltered elf with a gentle nature, became distraught because of his companion's reaction, and it required many whispered words from Erestor, Lord Elrond's tall, dark seneschal, to soothe him.  
  
*Lindir does not like this city,* Elrohir sent to me, with an overtone of affectionate compassion I seldom heard from him. *There are too many people and too few trees here. He is very shy, and very much a creature of the forest. He would not have come here at all did he not love Arwen so much.* I watched Lindir, who was uneasily looking at the girl looking shamefaced back at him, as Erestor had to return to his own escort.  
  
"Do you think we should perhaps switch partners?" I asked Elrohir quietly, aloud.  
  
He gave me a rueful smile. "Much as I mislike loosing your company, Snowsteel, it is well thought of. He was raised by the wizard Aiwendil, who is a friend to all creatures of the Wild, but most particularly birds, so he would probably enjoy being escorted by a member of the House of the Eagle. If you are willing, I will arrange it." I nodded.  
  
"If it would make him more comfortable, I am only too glad to do it." Elrohir promptly strolled over to Lindir and the girl, and gave her a sweeping bow, apparently explaining the situation to them both. The girl flushed with embarassment, but gave him a teary-eyed nod, whereupon Elrohir escorted Lindir over to me. The slender elf gave me a tentative smile.  
  
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Lindir," I said softly in Sindarin. His eyes lit up in relief, and he responded in a very musical voice.  
  
"Elrohir tells me you are Halaran's daughter. I am pleased to meet you too. Is Landroval your eagle-friend as well?" Elrohir rolled his eyes, and sent to me.  
  
*He will be all right now. Thank you, Snowsteel.* I sent him warm affection, and he smiled and moved to the young woman, helping her to her feet with easy grace. I proferred Lindir my arm, and answered his question.  
  
"Nay, Landroval is not my eagle-friend--his mother, the Windlady Gwaenaur, is." He smiled with childlike delight.  
  
"I have met the Windlady Gwaenaur! She is very large, and reddish in color, and opiniated." Laughing, I replied that that was indeed the case, and we joined the procession at last.  
  
  
Four abreast, we filed out of the King's House into a beautiful Midsummer's day. The Master of Protocol, seeing the switch of escorts, gave me a glare and headed in my direction, but was intercepted by Elrohir, who apparently set him back so hard on his heels that he dared make no further comment on the subject. I smiled, gave Lindir's arm a reassuring pat and moved on, noting the Prince Imrahil was leading the line of Gondorian men with the Lady Galadriel on his arm, while Faramir, Prince Erchirion, Prince Amrothos and other Gondorian noblemen escorted the other elf maidens who had come with Arwen. I hoped that the lady Amrothos was escorting knew something about the movement of essential goods within Caras Galadon; otherwise, she was in for a rough time of it.  
  
Lord Hurin's men had their hands full holding back the enthusiastic crowd that literally covered the grounds of the Citadel. A roar rose up as we processed past the Tower of Ecthelion towards the Court of the Fountain, and Lindir jumped, startled. I hastened to reassure him.  
  
"They are just glad, Lord Lindir. They mean no harm by it." He nodded, but his blue-grey eyes were wide. I wondered how old he was, for he seemed very childlike in his demeanor.  
  
"There are so many!" he exclaimed, and it was not an exclamation of pleasure.  
  
"Of course," I said, deciding that a matter-of-fact manner might soothe him better than anything else. "That the King should return was unlooked for for many lives of Men, and that he should wed such a fair lady as the Evenstar is the greatest event of our age. Everyone who is important enough to acquire an invitation by any means is here."  
  
He nodded, and after a moment gave me a sidelong look. "I am supposed to sing at the wedding," he confided somewhat nervously.  
  
"I am sure that you will do wonderfully well," I assured him. "You have a lovely voice."  
  
"But I do not know if the mortals will like my singing."  
  
"Well, I am a mortal, and I like it when Elrohir sings." He actually snorted.  
  
"Elrohir! If you like Elrohir's singing, then you will certainly enjoy mine!" Elrohir, behind us in line, cleared his throat loudly, and Lindir blushed.  
  
"I have been ill-mannered again," he confessed to me mournfully after a moment. "It seems no matter how I try, I always am."  
  
"This is rather a lot of excitement for anyone, much less someone who is not accustomed to cities," I said in a comforting manner. "Besides, Elrohir is ill-mannered enough himself upon occasion." There was a growl of protest behind us, but Lindir actually laughed.  
  
"That is true enough! Did he ever tell you about the time he and Elladan--"  
  
"Lindir! This is neither the time nor the place!" Elrohir interjected sharply. Crestfallen, the singer subsided, and I turned my head to shoot my lover a warning glare. Then I turned it back--and nearly halted in my tracks, my mouth agape.  
  
We were come into the Court of the Fountain, but it had changed. I had not noticed the evening before, so eager had I been to seek my rest. No longer was the dead, dry Tree there, its branches dripping drops from the fountain like tears. In its place was a sapling scarce four feet tall, pale and smooth of bark, with leaves that were darkest green above, and silver below. It was covered with clusters of white blossoms, and seemed the personification of all that was young, and growing, and glad.  
  
When I saw it there, I knew at once what it must be, and wondered how such a thing had come to be found again. To find another White Tree of Gondor, descended from the sapling that had come over the sea with Elendil, that descended in turn from the tree that they sung of in Lorien, that had illuminated Valinor itself with silver light--that had to be wizard's work. The sight of that slender little stick with its clusters of leaves and flowers moved me so deeply and profoundly that I felt sudden tears sting my eyes. More than Gwaihir's tidings, more than Aragorn's coronation and entrance into the City, this one small tree told me that we had truly won, that the Darkness was vanquished, if not forever, then for many lives of Men. Its appearance heralded a renewed, hopeful future for both the House of Elendil and the North and South Kingdoms.  
  
Lindir too, seemed moved by the sight of the Tree, and as we filed into our places before it, he lifted his head and a sudden phrase of music poured from him, in a language that was Elvish but no Elvish I had ever heard before. As for his voice--I suddenly realized why Elrohir thought himself lacking in that department. I doubted the Valar themselves could have sung more sweetly. Like molten gold it was, or all the songs of nature combined into one sweet voice.  
  
He seemed to be singing to the Tree itself, and perhaps it was just chance that a slight breeze seemed to stir the leaves, or maybe it was in fact the Tree, returning his greeting. People turned their heads towards him, surprised, but many were smiling as they did, for though they could not understand the words, the song was obviously joyous. The wizard Mithrandir, who stood to one side of the Tree all a-glimmer in shining white with the four hobbits, was smiling as well, as he indicated to Lindir that he should take up position upon the other side with the elf Legolas and the dwarf Gimli. I moved to the groom's side of the assembly while Lindir, all shyness seemingly gone, did as he was directed, singing all the while, a slender hand reaching out to lovingly stroke one of the dark green leaves. The Tree rustled once more, and the tableau of age and wisdom and youth and innocence that Mithandir and Lindir represented together was quite striking--even if, as I suspected, the Elf was far older than he looked.  
  
Then heads turned back in the direction of the Tower, to witness the coming of the King. Aragorn paced with regal slowness, his head held high. Kingly he looked indeed, though the only martial aspect of his garb at this celebration of peace was Anduril girded at his waist. A slender band of silver or mithril with a single pure white diamond bound his brows, and the gem seemed to sparkle with starfire in the summer sun. He was clad in the sable of Gondor, but it was fabric of surpassing richness, and embroidered cunningly upon the breast in gems and silver was the device of the White Tree, mirroring the little sapling before him. The white cloak and green eagle clasp he had worn at his crowning completed the ensemble.   
  
Aragorn looked younger than his actual age as he advanced towards the destiny he had been moving towards all his adult life, and though his face was very composed, I could see tension in the muscle that lay along the jaw, and a certain whiteness of knuckle that made me believe the King might be a trifle nervous. He was accompanied by one of the members of the Grey Company, a man whose silver hair marked him as the oldest member of that Northern band. Though lined with age and weather, the Ranger's face had a severe though pleasing handsomeness, and I felt a nagging sense of familiarity as I gazed upon him. I finally decided that I must have seen him about the Citadel before my departure for Lorien.  
  
Like his ruler, he wore no armor, merely a fine tunic in dark grey, with his Ranger cloak and star brooch over all. He and the other Rangers of the Grey Company were the only sober notes in the rainbow throng, but though their clothing was plain, their usually grim faces were filled with gladness for he who was their commander. He and the King took their places before the wizard, and when they had done so, Lindir's song, which had never ceased, changed key and became, if possible even more joyfully jubilant. Heads turned once more as Arwen arrived.  
  
T'is said that all brides are beautiful, as if the rite of marriage itself lends a fleeting glow to even the plainest countenance. The Evenstar, deemed fairest of her people, who were so much fairer than mortal Men, could hardly be improved upon. Yet I knew, watching her as she advanced towards the Tree upon her father's arm, that she would never be more beautiful than she was on this day. She reminded me, and I was certain many others in the crowd as well, of no one less than Elbereth, the Star-kindler herself. The exquisite gown I had seen before, now finished, clung to her perfect form, the leaves and flowers embroidered upon it shimmering in the sun. Her night-black hair, flowing unbound to her hips, was cunningly scattered with small white gems that twinkled like stars. And her face, alight with love as she gazed upon her lord,was almost too unbearably beautiful to look upon.  
  
Lord Elrond, aways remarkable in any gathering of Men or Elves, was quite cast into the shade this day by his glowing daughter. Clad in a rich overobe of sapphire blue, his expression was calm and inscrutably grave. I wondered if he and Arwen were speaking mind to mind, and, if so, what they were saying to each other. There was no sign of it upon their countenances. And when I looked across the aisle to where Elrohir stood close to his grandparents, his fingers twined in his twin's, I found that his face was quietly attentive as well--though the pang of anguish that surged through our link at Arwen's appearance told me his heart was anything but quiet.  
  
For a moment, I regretted the impulse that had led me to escort Lindir, for while it had undoubtedly made the beautiful singer's participation in the ceremony more tolerable, it had taken me away from Elrohir at the very time he needed my support most. Then I realized that I was being the veriest idiot in Gondor and reached out to Elrohir, who reached back with a mental sigh of relief and gratitude. It was as if we clasped hands mentally.  
  
*I am glad that you are here, Snowsteel.*  
  
*I do not care what Lindir says, I still like your singing.* I felt a tiny ripple of surprised mental laughter. Arwen and her father took their appointed places, and the bride exchanged a loving smile with her bedazzled groom.  
  
Then Mithrandir spoke, his deep voice carrying easily over the crowd.  
  
"The King welcomes you, his guests, and asks you to bear witness this day to the vows of marriage between himself and his chosen Queen, the Lady Arwen of Imladris." He turned his attention to the bride and groom. "Years ago, you plighted your troth, and exchanged rings in token of your promise. Take them back, and give them once more, in recognition of that promise kept." This was done, the couple's heads bent intently over the task, Aragorn's weatherbeaten fingers brown against Lady Arwen's pale ones.  
  
Then, Gandalf extended an open hand, which contained two golden rings.  
  
"Now, in token of the deeper vows you are about to make, take these rings as well." They did so, and with quiet, private smiles at each other, placed the gold rings above the silver ones. Then the Ranger and Lord Elrond took their right hands and placed them together, and they turned to face each other.  
  
The Lady Arwen spoke first, her face bright. "Long ago, I pledged myself to you in all things, and to this still do I hold. To the end of our days together I will love you, and beyond, your wife in every way. Thus speak I, Arwen Undomiel of Imladris."  
  
Aragorn took a deep breath before he answered her, looking deeply into her eyes, seemingly reassured by what he found there.  
  
"There is nothing I could ever give you that could match the splendor of the gift you have given me, my love. But what I have--my kingdom, my life, my love, my soul--everything that is mine is yours forever. Thus say I, Aragorn son of Arathorn, King Elessar Telcontar of Arnor and Gondor."  
  
In that moment of supreme happiness for the two of them, I was buffeted by a wrenching, agonized sense of loss from Elrohir, and more distantly, from Elladan.  
  
*She has chosen. She is gone from us.* Their heads bowed together, as Gandalf addressed Arwen and Aragorn one last time.  
  
"All that has been done here this day, before the eyes of those assembled, is in accordance with the laws of Gondor and Arnor. You are man and wife, King and Queen." He produced a circlet like unto the King's, and Aragorn set it upon his wife's head, embracing and kissing her as the crowd cheered wildly. Then they turned, and beaming, proudly proceeded back down the aisle we'd made for them, followed by Mithrandir and the Fellowship. The rest of us fell in according to the plan, Lindir hastening back to my side.   
  
We walked as a company back to Merethrond, wherein were set tables of delicacies and fine drinks, that the high folk might nibble as they mingled. The wedding feast proper was to be that evening. Once there, we had discharged our responsibilities and were free to leave our escorts, but I remained with Lindir until Lord Erestor came to meet him.  
  
"Thank you, my lady, for your care of Lindir," he said most graciously.  
  
"It was my very great pleasure," I replied; then, smiling at the blonde elf, addressed him. "Your singing was truly beautiful, Lindir." He gave me a pleased smile in return.  
  
"Thank you, Lady Hethlin. I wish that you could return with us to Imladris. You would like it in the North. You could talk to the Eagles. And you could keep Elrohir out of trouble!"  
  
Laughing, I replied, "Gracious! I fear that that is beyond my abilities, not being a wizard, or a greater power! And the King commands me to Dol Amroth for the next two years. Perhaps after that, I will be able to come--I have long wished to do so." Lindir gave me a suddenly sad look. He was quite the mercurial creature.  
  
"Oh! I fear many of us may be gone if you wait that long, and I wished you to meet everyone! But," and here he brightened again, "I will remember you, Lady."  
  
"And I you," I replied gently. "Elrohir tells me the same thing. So it seems I will be remembered forever twice over. A very nice thing." Lord Erestor laid a companionable arm about his shoulders.  
  
"Come, Lindir. Let us go see if we can rescue poor Glorfindel. He is quite surrounded by those young ladies over there." He gave me a courteous nod, and the two of them moved off, Lindir cheerfully exclaiming over the rarity of Glorfindel needing a rescue from them.   
  
My responsibilities ended, I looked about for Elrohir, but found that he was standing with the King and Queen upon the dais at the end of the hall with Lord Elrond, his brother and grandparents. They were greeting the dignitaries and important guests. Searching next for Faramir, I found him deep in conversation with the Haradrim ambassador. The Prince, too, was occupied with the high and the mighty. It seemed that I was on my own. I considered simply leaving the festivities, having participated as had been requested, but did not know if that would be insulting or not. Eventually, I wandered over to the buffet tables, not because I was hungry, but for lack of anything better to do.  
  
Bemused, I stared at the display of foods which were ornately prepared and cut and molded so as to give no clue as to what they might actually consist of.  
  
"Those gray things over there are goose, liver, I think. I can smell them," a cheerful voice said. I looked down and found Pippin standing there with two plates in his hands. "Hullo, Lady Hethlin. Would you mind very much reaching me some of those, and some of those cheesy things on the far corner there?"  
  
"Not at all, Master Peregrin," I replied, and did so, then got him some of the other treats he couldn't quite reach. When the plates were full, he thanked me.  
  
"This one is for Frodo. Did you like the wedding?"  
  
"I did, very much. Did you?"  
  
"Oh yes. I am very glad for Strider and Lady Arwen. I hope that they will be happy."  
  
"Do you have a lady waiting for you at home, Master Peregrin?" I inquired, curious. He laughed.  
  
"Oh no! I did steal a kiss from a hobbit-lass named Diamond once, behind a mulberry bush."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"She boxed my ears." We both laughed, and he took his plates and departed. I decided against getting a plate for myself, and looked about the assemblage once more. There was a knot of Rangers from the Grey Company off to one side, talking, and I noticed the Ranger that had accompanied the King during the ceremony staring at me very intently. His scrutiny unnerved me, so I turned away from him, and moved into the crowd. It was about that time that things began to get very strange.  
  
I was approached, in quick succession, by a sulky seventeen-year-old, a rather plump, middle-aged merchant, and an older man of cadaverous appearance, though he was richly dressed. The seventeen-year-old told me he had been ordered by his father to talk with me and size me up as a potential bride. He became a lot less sulky when I informed him that I had no intention of taking a husband, whereupon we discussed my experiences in the war for a while instead, a subject he greeted with much more enthusiasm. This served to appease his father, who was not close enough to hear what we were talking about, but could see that we were getting along well.  
  
It took almost ten minutes for the merchant in his turn to work around to his floridly worded proposal, which was couched in terms of mergers and trade agreements. I refused as politely as I could, and fled into the crowd--only to run right into my last suitor, who proposed an alliance in which he would be able to use the connection I gave him to the King, whilst I dallied where I wished. He too received a polite though harried refusal, and I fled away once more, scanning the throng desperately in search of a friend. My glance crossed the staring Ranger's once more, and feeling absolutely hunted, I turned from him to the opposite direction. This brought me close to the Prince, still talking cordially to yet another dignitary. I watched him for a moment, and as I did so, something caught my eye. The hand in which he held his goblet was trembling slightly. Setting the cup down on the table which stood nearby, he placed his hand behind his back to disguise the tremor, and continued his conversation without pause.  
  
I remembered what he had said about the shaking in Edoras, and feared that a repeat of his collapse there was imminent. I was also somewhat worried that he would be wroth with me for interrupting him, but was willing to take that chance, for I certainly needed a rescue even if he did not. Squaring my shoulders, I strove to make my expression look as official as possible, and approached him with a purposeful stride.  
  
"My lord prince?" I said with a bow. He broke off his conversation and looked at me quizzically.  
  
"Yes, Hethlin?"  
  
"That messenger you have been expecting has just arrived." He did not hesitate.  
  
"Ah, yes. Turnald, will you excuse me? A bit of urgent business has come up." The dignitary nodded graciously, and I stepped away, the Prince joining me. He started walking swiftly towards the door that led out of Merethrond, speaking quietly to me, his head close to mine.  
  
"Did Andrahar send you to fetch me?"  
  
"Nay, my lord, I noticed your hand was shaking and became concerned. Did you require a rescue?"  
  
"It was reaching that point." I sighed in relief, and he gave me a tired smile. "Were you afraid I would chastise you, child? I can talk to Turnald any time. You were only trying to look after me. Andrahar has prepared a bolt-hole for me in the Citadel against this very happenstance. I set him a time when he was to fetch me, but I overestimated my endurance. So you were timely indeed." Feeling suddenly rather clever, I walked swiftly with him into the Citadel, watching him greet and be greeted as he made his way through the throng outside the hall, but never letting himself be drawn into conversation. We passed within, and up the stairs to the second floor, where he went unerringly to the very sitting room he had been repairing Faramir's hair in earlier. We entered, and he bolted it from within, then sank down upon the couch with a relieved sigh.  
  
The window was closed, and the room stuffy in the growing heat of the day, so I moved over and opened it. A rather pleasant breeze wafted in. The day had turned out to be truly beautiful, with a gentle wind from the North that cut the often oppressive heat of a Minas Tirith Mid-summer. The sky was clear, and achingly blue, with never a cloud in sight. Good flying weather, I thought, smiling at the recollection of my feathered friends, fair air indeed.  
  
The Prince removed his sapphire-studded circlet, and placed it upon the small table beside the couch, running his hands wearily through his hair. He then began unbuckling his sword belt, and I came over to stand ready to receive it.  
  
"Did you get any sleep at all last night?" I asked with a frown. "After that ride, you should have sought your bed early. I did."  
  
"Ah, but there are different sorts of rest," he replied with a slightly embarassed smile, "and I had not seen my children for over a month. They wished to know of our journey, and I did not want to alarm them by seeming ill. So we talked until late, and then I awoke early because I was uneasy in my mind about the ceremony, and wanted to make sure that things were going to go smoothly." He handed his sword-belt to me, and I accepted it, taking a moment to admire the weapon, which I had never examined carefully before. The hilt was fashioned like the body of a swan, with the spread wings being the quillons, and a flared tail extending onto the blade. The swan's neck was the grip, and its head the pommel. The whole thing was simply but gracefully wrought, and it had the satiny patina that came from generations of use. The scabbard and belt in which it resided were far more ornate than the weapon itself. I leaned it carefully against a nearby armchair, and gave him an irritated look.  
  
"In other words, you got no sleep to speak of. How do you ever expect to get better if you keep driving yourself in this way? Riding after me to the inn, and now this?"   
  
Busy unbuttoning his tunic, he paused to arch an eyebrow at me. "Oh dear. I fear that I am being fussed at. By my esquire, no less." It was not a rebuke, but I flushed a bit anyway.  
  
"Well, someone has to do it, my lord prince! And since you are being so close-mouthed about being sick, the elves and I are the only ones who can! Perhaps I should tell Lord Elrond about how foolish you are being!"  
  
"Perhaps you should," he agreed amicably, his eyes twinkling with their usual amusement once more. He finished with the buttons, handed the tunic to me, and I took it, automatically smoothing my hand over the incredible fabric. Draping it carefully over the same chair his sword was leaned up against, I turned to find him settling himself upon the couch, head resting upon one arm and booted ankles crossed upon the other. There was a pillow upon the arm chair, and I handed it to him. He thanked me, placed it under his head and closed his eyes, obviously preparing to take a nap. I looked at him a bit wistfully.  
  
"Am I going to have to be at the feast this evening, my lord?"  
  
"Yes, Hethlin. You will sit with me and my family, on the groom's side of the table."  
  
"I see. Is there anything I can get you? Do you need something?"  
  
"No, Hethlin. But thank you for asking."  
  
"Shall I stay in case you need something later?"  
  
"No, Hethlin. Andrahar will be here any time. Go back to the party and have a good time."  
  
"I really don't mind staying, sir." Imrahil cracked an eye open, and sighed patiently.  
  
"Is there some reason you do not wish to return to the party, child?" Given this feeble encouragement, I told him the tale of my three 'suitors'. He closed his eyes again, but chuckled from time to time.  
  
I ended the tale in a state of high dudgeon. "The last one, the old man, even said that I would be able to indulge in 'my lascivious behavior' all that I pleased, and that he hoped the King would appreciate his taking Aragorn's problem kinswoman off of his hands!" The Prince laughed long and softly.  
  
"Hethlin you are going to have to decide if you are going to live your life as you feel it should be lived, or if you are going to worry about what people think about you, for you cannot do both. Aragorn, Faramir, the Queen, and myself all think well of you, and if it is not too immodest to say so, so long as we do, what anyone else thinks does not matter! This is nothing I have not told you before. You are a woman who has chosen to take a man's place in the world, and there are always going to be people who think that unseemly. Now I know that you are brave--do me a service and cease this running and hiding you've done today! Go back outside, and try to have a good time." I bowed my head, abashed.  
  
"Very well, my lord." Going to the door, I unlocked it and stepped outside.  
  
"Hethlin," came the quiet voice from the couch.  
  
"My lord?"  
  
"Thank you for the rescue."  
  
"You are welcome, my lord." I shut the door behind me, and started the walk back to Merethrond.  
  
  
Back in the Hall of Feasting, things were much as I had left them. Lord Elrond still kept his family gathered close to the King, and Faramir was still surrounded by well-wishers and sycophants. I wondered briefly if Lord Elrond was going to intentionally try to keep Elrohir and myself apart for the duration of the Elves' stay in Minas Tirith. With nothing better to do in mind, I wended my way back to the table of food, and stood there for a bit, trying to decide if I wanted to get a plate after all. I had just decided that I would, when I felt eyes upon my back, and turned around--to find that the Ranger who had been watching me all day was standing within an arm's length of me. I jumped.  
  
"My apologies, lass, I did not mean to startle you." His voice was deep, and had the same Northern accent as the King's. "You are very much your father's daughter. I do not see your mother in your face."  
  
"She may not be in my face, my lord, but I keep her in my heart," I said, a bit tartly because of the unease this man had caused me all day long.  
  
My answer seemed to please him for some reason. He smiled slightly, and hooked his hands into his belt. They were the hands of a warrior, nicked and scarred, calloused and weathebeaten. There was a large scar at his temple, crossing the wrinkles at the corner of his eye. He'd been lucky with that one, whenever he had got it.  
  
"I had thought to meet you somewhat earlier," the Ranger said matter-of-factly, "but we were all very busy after the Chieftain was crowned, and I wished to talk to some who knew you first, to see what manner of lass you were. We don't rush things up North, unless it is in battle. And about the time I had finished asking about you, and had decided the time was right to talk to you, you vanished. None knew where you'd gone, but Aragorn told me you were off to fetch the Lady Arwen with the Prince. So this is the first chance I've had."  
  
I stared at him, puzzled, a bit angry, and intrigued that Aragorn had entrusted him with the secret of his bride. But then, he had seconded the King at his very marriage....."You asked people about me?"  
  
"Aye."  
  
"Why? Did you know my parents?"  
  
"Aye." He could see my anger, but was calm in the face of it.  
  
"Who did you talk to?"  
  
"Aragorn, of course. He sent me to Prince Faramir, and to Captain Mablung. I spoke to them at length, with the King's request that they answer plainly and in full and not ask why I needed the information. I also spoke to Lord Hurin. They all think very well of you, have naught but good things to say. You'll be getting your star soon, and by all accounts, it is well deserved. You may be younger even than your father was when he got his, and he was one of the youngest to do so. I think that both your parents would be proud of you." I nodded shortly, only half-hearing the praise. I was still trying to figure out exactly who this fellow could be that Aragorn would allow him, nay, aid him, to investigate me.  
  
"Now that I know something about you from others," he continued, "I would like you to tell me something of yourself. And your father and mother, and brother and sister as well. Anything and everything you can remember."  
  
It was apparently not only the day for me to run and hide, but the day for all sorts of violations of privacy. "And if I do not choose to do so?" I asked, very annoyed. "Will you have the King command me?"  
  
"Nay, lady," he responded, ignoring my ill humor. "Though I would hope that you would want to do it."  
  
"And why should I want to do it? Who are you that you should ask?" The look he gave me then with his rain-grey eyes, held such sadness in it that I felt my ire beginning to subside.  
  
"My name is Litharel, lass," he said by way of explanation, and when he saw from my uncomprehending look that that meant nothing to me, he sighed and explained further.  
  
"I am your grandfather."  
  
  



	44. The Dance

I stared at the Ranger who had named himself my grandfather, and suddenly realized why it was he had seemed so familiar to me.  
  
"Your eyes are like Mother's," I whispered, my own eyes burning suddenly. He put a large hand beneath my right elbow, and steered me over to where some chairs stood along the wall. Seating me, he then settled himself into the chair beside me, and gave me a reassuring smile.  
  
"I am sorry, lass. This must be a shock for you." I nodded, blinking a bit.   
  
"I told Lord Faramir once that I would like to go North one day and see if I had any kin there. But for the last four years, I have been thinking of myself as being alone in the world."  
  
Litharel chuckled. "You have a grandfather," and he gestured to himself, "a grandmother, two uncles and their wives, seven cousins, three of whom are married and have between them produced five little second cousins for you. I do not call that being alone or kinless." I frowned, rather troubled.  
  
"But you waited until now to reveal yourself to me, and only after you talked to all of my friends. Were you thinking of returning to the North without telling me of our kinship?"  
  
My grandfather looked a bit embarrassed and taken aback. Somehow I knew that this did not happen often.   
  
"I am the oldest of the Rangers in the Grey Company, and I came with them not only to serve Aragorn, but in the hope that I would find Liranael again. On the way to the Morannon, Elrohir told me that by merest chance--an abduction was mentioned, I believe, though I have never understood exactly what that was about-- he had found Halaran's daughter. At that time, I made him swear an oath that, should we survive the Morannon, he would keep silent about my presence until I chose to reveal it. I wished to find out more about you and your family, and what your circumstances were." He leaned forward, elbows on knees and knitted his big hands together. My hands, I suddenly realized.  
  
"I will not lie to you, Hethlin--there was indeed a time when I contemplated keeping my secret and returning North. When I first saw you, from afar--you resemble your father so greatly it is as if he had returned in woman's form. And I had been very angry with Halaran for a very long time." The irritation I had felt upon first hearing of my father's treatment among his kin resurfaced.  
  
"Why? Because he left? The King told me that he did so to calm the conflict among the Dunedain."  
  
"For that, and for other reasons. I could understood why he chose to do what he did, yet still deplore the choice that took my daughter so far from me. And I had always preferred Terenoth as a possible husband for Liranael. He was much more agreeable and personable. A good Ranger, and a strong leader. Your father was not an easy man to know, he was a loner, and he had that uncanny quality that so many of your House exhibit. Then there was the curse, of course. When Liranael chose to follow him South, it seemed to me that the curse was working its foul magic upon my House as well."  
  
"My mother went with my father because she loved him," I retorted. "I do not believe love to be a curse!" Litharel nodded agreement.  
  
"That is true enough. I do not believe so either, but I did wish to be honest with you about my reservations, and why I had them. You should know that they have been laid to rest. I hope that my hesitation will not anger you to the point that you will refuse to spend some time with me while I am here. We have much to say and share, and I would not wish to lose the opportunity. You will be welcome in the home of your mother's kindred, should you ever come North."  
  
I considered what he had said thoughtfully for a moment. While it was true I had imagined a more effusive reception from my kin, he had at least been honest with me. If those truths had been somewhat hurtful, it was understandable-- the man had been in pain for over twenty-five years, missing his daughter, and my father had been responsible for that.  
  
"Would you like to go somewhere now, and talk?" I asked tentatively. My grandfather gave me a regretful smile.  
  
"I would like nothing better, lass, but I must report back to the King soon--he has relied upon me to see to certain details of this day for him. And I believe that you, too, are expected elsewhere."  
  
"Eventually. At dinner," I admitted. "But I'm at loose ends right now."  
  
"Tomorrow things will be much calmer after the wedding breakfast. Why don't we meet at noon, have lunch down in the City, and do something afterwards? Go for a ride, something like that." I nodded, and it was arranged that we should meet outside the courier stables at noon.  
  
"I would have suggested that you bring your bow, and we could go hunting, but from the looks of things, it will be a while before you can wield it," he commented, looking at my bandaged hand. I nodded.  
  
"It is greatly healed, and very much at ease, thanks to Lord Elrond's care, but he tells me not to tax it for a while yet. But if you truly wish to hunt, Grandfather, I will go with you in any event. I enjoy the stalk as much as the kill." Litharel shook his head.  
  
"Nay lass, I will not take you into the forest when you are not feeling well. We will find some other way to amuse ourselves. Until then." And he rose, and squeezed my uninjured hand, and departed, leaving me in a rather strange state of mind. Not happy, not sad, just odd. Finally, I decided that I was not hungry after all, and that perhaps the Prince had had a good idea when he decided to take a nap. The dinner would undoubtedly be long and possibly tedious, and I would weather it better were I rested. So I left Merethrond and returned to the Citadel, where I went to my room, did off my good clothes, and laid myself down upon the bed in a nightgown--just in case someone else burst in upon me. Then, feeling the warm breeze from the open balcony door soft upon my face, it was not long before I sank into slumber.  
  
Sometime after that, I was awakened by the awareness of a presence standing near my bed, and looked up to find Elrohir stripping out of his flowery elf garb, the sorrow emanating from him seeming almost to bring night into the light of the afternoon. When he was clad in naught but breeches, he gave me a questioning look. I opened my arms, and he lay down within their circle, satin skin warm but not sweaty, his hair redolent of that piney soap he liked.  
  
*Ah, Snowsteel....* he sighed mentally, and I stroked his hair.  
  
* I wish I could make you feel better,* I replied mournfully, and he smiled sadly.  
  
*Actually, you are making me feel better. Sometimes just being with someone can be enough.* We were forehead to forehead, and I gave him a gentle kiss, which he reciprocated.  
  
"Are you weary?" he asked softly aloud. "I did not think you the sort to take naps." I nodded.  
  
"It was a long ride yesterday. I'm still rather achy from the fight. And I met my grandfather just now. It felt very strange. Why did you not tell me about him?"  
  
"If you spoke to Litharel for any time at all, you already know why," he replied, unruffled. "I gave my word that I would not. Though if he had taken much longer after our return to speak with you, Aragorn and I would have taken him to task. Did you like him?"  
  
"He seems a good man."  
  
"He is that."  
  
"I just wish that he had really wanted to see me, that he would have wanted to love me no matter what. Though I suppose I cannot fault his honesty."  
  
"Honesty is usually a good basis for any sort of relationship."  
  
I chuckled. "You sound just like the Prince!" Elrohir gave me a look of mock horror, and I laughed outright. His grey eyes were still shadowed, but he was very beautiful in the afternoon light, and it suddenly occurred to me how I wished to pass the time before dinner. A bit tentatively, I stroked a gentle hand down the outside of his arm, and then let it drift across the flat planes of his belly. He sucked in a surprised breath, for though I had become comfortable making love with him, this was the first time I had actually initiated the act. Caressing him for some moments more, I watched as his breath began to come faster and his eyes darkened even further.  
  
"I think you in need of heart's-ease again, my lord Elrohir," I breathed against his elegant ear, pressing myself against him as he shuddered. "Shall I give you some?"  
  
"It has certainly proved a sovereign remedy in the past for both of our troubles," he murmured. "I am not adverse, should you care to attempt a cure." Smiling, I sat up, and slid swiftly off the tall bed. He regarded me first with puzzlement, then understanding as I crossed the room and bolted the door.  
  
"Master Gamgee would be most scandalized, were he to walk in on us while trying to tend his plants," I explained, returning to the bed and pulling the nightgown over my head so that I stood revealed in the sunlight. Elrohir smiled appreciatively, and began sliding out of his breeches.  
  
"Oh, I don't know. He might learn something useful to take home to that Rosie of his." When he was finished, I bounced up onto the bed again and indicated with a hand upon his shoulder that he should lay back. He did so, grinning, his brow arched with curiosity, and I promptly straddled him.  
  
"There is something I have noticed about Elves, and you in particular," I told him with a wicked grin in return, "that I have long been wishing to explore in further detail."  
  
"And that is?"  
  
"THIS!" And I laid the fingertips of my good hand along his ribs, and dug in, tickling him unmercifully. He actually shrieked, and almost threw me to the floor with the force of his jump beneath me, but I persevered, tickling him until he ceased to fight, quivering, gasping, his eyes tearing.  
  
"Valar, Snowsteel! Please, no more! Mercy!" Believing I had subdued him, I ceased my tortures--whereupon he seized my shoulders and rolled me beneath him in the blink of an eye.  
  
"You are going to pay the price for your treachery, wench!" he growled at me, silvery eyes narrowed menacingly, but I could tell that he was not really angry, and he had certainly forgotten his earlier sorrow--at least for the moment. I smiled, and wrapped my arms about his shoulders, drawing him down against me.  
  
"I was rather counting upon that," I said.  
Sometime later, we disentangled ourselves, and I rang for a bath. Despite what must have been an extremely busy day, hot water was brought in short order, and Elrohir and I availed ourselves of it, both of us standing in the one tub, and sluicing each other down in a most playful fashion. We left a great deal of water upon the bathroom floor, but we were as pristine and pleasantly fragrant as anyone could wish when we were finished. We then spent some time primping for dinner--in other words, I combed his beautiful hair for a long while past the point it was dry and tangle free, he almost purring the whole time, then he reciprocated for the lesser amount of time it took to render me presentable.  
  
We went back down to Merethrond to find the tables had been set for the feast, and that we were just on time. Parting once more, we went to our respective seats--he with his father and family upon one side, me with the Prince's family upon the other. I found myself seated between Princess Lothiriel and Prince Amrothos, which made for a pleasant and entertaining meal. Lothiriel gave me the latest gossip about the various individuals I saw within the hall. Like her father, she made the stories funny, not hurtful. And I was pleased to find that, having spent those afternoons exploring Lorien and Caras Galadon with Elrohir, I was able to converse with Amrothos about the Elves with some authority.  
  
The Prince, seated upon the Queen's other side, seemed very much more his cheerful self after his little nap. Though he was too far away for me to address directly, I could tell from the twinkle in his eye and the humorous, bantering tone in his voice that he felt better. Faramir, even further away upon the King's other side, seemed quiet but pleased. I suspected that he was just starting to recover from arranging the whole event. Elrohir spent most of the dinner sending me absurdities about the people in the room, Men and Elves alike, apparently in an effort to make me laugh. I suspected he might have had a wager with his brother going, for I would catch a glance from Elladan from time to time. I really did not mind being the subject of their sport if it cheered their hearts, but I managed to avoid breaking out in laughter. I never discovered if such a wager existed, or if it did, who had won.  
  
The feast was magnificent, and most of the guests set to eating with a gusto the belied the fact that they'd had food to hand all afternoon. Needless to say, the four hobbits did their Shire proud in that department, and for once, I felt reasonably comfortable eating as much as I wished. Eating half as quickly as I normally would have with the Rangers seemed to serve me in good stead in these gatherings of the great and mighty, but even at that slower pace, I had quite sated myself before the feast was officially over.  
  
The tables were then removed, and the dancing began. The first dance was led by the King and Queen, to much applause when it was completed. Elrohir strolled back over to me, and we watched the colorfully dressed dancers dip, sway and turn. Some of the elves were participating, their innate grace throwing the mortal dancers into shade, though a few of those were very lithe as well. The footwork and movements seemed incredibly intricate to me, whose rare exposure to dance had been one party at the Beacon, and a marriage at a distant neighbor's homestead. In both instances, the cheerful swinging of girls and vigorous stepping bore no relationship to what was happening before me now, which spoke of hours and hours of studied practice.  
  
Still, I knew my strengths, and I was good at tasks involving dexterity. It seemed something that I could master one day, with the appropriate instruction, and I suspected that it would in fact be something I was instructed in once I reached Dol Amroth. The music was certainly enjoyable, and I found that my foot was tapping time as I watched. Elrohir raised his eyebrow.  
  
"Would you like to dance, Snowsteel?" he asked.  
  
I shook my head vigorously. "I would make the veriest fool out of myself out there! I do not know anything about it! But you go dance if you like--I would enjoy watching you." He shook his head gently in his turn.  
  
"Perhaps later, if father or Aragorn insist. I enjoy dancing, but not as much as Arwen does. Look you there." I looked where he indicated, and found the dancers forming up once more for a new dance, and the Queen was at the head of them, but her partner this time was the Prince of Dol Amroth. Seeking the King, I found him standing near the dais, talking to Lord Elrond and watching the dancers. Seeming to feel my eyes upon him, Aragorn looked across the room, spied me and grinned, then pointed a kingly finger at me and crooked it. I started, and he repeated the gesture.  
  
"Elrohir, I have to--"  
  
"I see, Snowsteel." Taking my arm, he escorted me around the edge of the dance floor to where the King stood.   
  
"Hethlin! We did not have time to speak earlier." Rather to my surprise, he enfolded me in a quick, warm embrace which reminded me very much of my father's, then held me at arm's length and inspected me.  
  
"Litharel tells me he finally spoke to you. Are you well?"  
  
I nodded. "I am well indeed, sire. It was a bit of a surprise, but the more I think upon it, the more comforted I am that at least my mother's kin still survive."  
  
"We are in a similar situation there. Though my father's farthest kin have always been my greatest shield in times of trouble." He cast a sideways look at Lord Elrond, who sighed resignedly.  
  
"Be at peace, Estel. I am not wroth with you, but I am curious as to how many more times I must say it before you will believe me." An uneasy silence fell, and I moved clumsily to break it.  
  
"My lord king, why are you not dancing with your lady?" Aragorn grinned a slightly embarrassed grin.  
  
"Because, cousin, I am but a humble Ranger who cannot dance such a dance. Look at them!" And I looked, to find the dancers had started the most complicated pattern of movements I had seen thus far. The Prince was moving down the floor with his lovely partner, mirroring her actions precisely, showing no sign at all of his injury in his careful footwork. They looked royal and gallant and wonderful, and my heart warmed at the sight of them.  
  
"I was thinking of making your liege the Royal Dancemaster," the King chuckled. "What do you think of that?"  
  
"I think," I replied softly, "that I am very glad to see this day, and that t is solely due to Lord Elrond's efforts, and those of Queen Arwen, that the Prince is able to dance so well." Looking surreptitiously at Lord Elrond, I found that he too was regarding the Prince with satisfaction. In at least one thing, it seemed, we were in complete accord. He cast his wintry glance upon me suddenly.  
  
"I thank you for your kind words, Lady Hethlin," he said politely, and I wondered too late if he thought I were flattering him in order to insure my own healing. His next words did not allay those suspicions. "I will come to you tomorrow evening at sunset. Eat lunch if you wish, but nothing after." My stomach plummeted of a sudden, and I became a bit light-headed as I speculated on what my healing might entail. It was not difficult for even a person without his formidable gifts to follow my thought, and his face actually softened a bit as he looked down at me.  
  
"Fear not, Lady Hethlin. You will be asleep as I work, and feel nothing, for that facilitates the working. As I told you once before, any discomfort you experience will be upon waking when I am finished, and I cannot honestly tell you the extent of that before I see how bad your situation is. But there are things I can give you that will ease you if you do feel pain. Have you changed your mind about this?"  
  
"Nay, my lord!" My response was quietly vehement. "Change my mind about what may be the only chance to repair my condition? But I am a bit frightened," I admitted with a touch of embarrassment. He nodded.  
  
"Perfectly understandable. I generally explain as much as I can to my patients, for they are more at ease if they comprehend what it is I am going to do. Regrettably, there is nothing more I can tell you at this point to reassure you, for I will have no more information till I examine you."  
  
"I understand that, my lord, and thank you for your willingness to attempt this for me." He nodded, and our conversation was obviously at an end. Elrohir placed an arm about my waist, and sent me a surge of sympathy.  
  
*I will be with you, Snowsteel.*  
  
I smiled gratefully at him in response and turned my attention back to the dance floor to find that the music had ended, and the other dancers had gathered about the Queen and Imrahil, and were applauding them. Then one of the men bowed to her, and she laughed and took his hand. His partner moved off the floor, escorted by the Prince, and the dancers formed up again, the Queen in the pre-eminent place with yet another partner.  
  
"Goodness!" I exclaimed, very impressed, for that last dance had been very vigorous. "She does like to dance, doesn't she?"  
  
"Oh yes," Elrohir drawled, "'--feet as light as linden leaves,' and all that." His father gave him a decidedly dour look, and I wondered if perhaps we had outstayed our welcome. Then the Prince, having escorted the lady to friends at the side of the floor, strolled over to us. He extended a commanding hand, and an esquire in Dol Amroth livery appeared seemingly out of nowhere to place a goblet in it, then disappeared once more. Taking a deep draught, his twinkling eyes regarded us over the rim of the cup.  
  
"What sober faces!" he declared. "What topic of conversation leaves the lot of you so gloomy?" The tension that had lurked in the air seemed to vanish with his coming.  
  
"We were discussing your new duties as Royal Dance Master," Aragorn informed him with a grin. "And how, along with all the other ways I rely upon you, you will be required to give me dancing lessons." The Prince's eyebrows climbed skyward, and he took another deep drink.  
  
"Well now! Dancing Master, is it?" He lowered his cup. "I was just a boy at the time, my lord king, but I am certain that I remember a Captain Thorongil navigating across the dance floor with my sister quite competently upon more than one occasion. You need no lessons from me." The King grew quiet at that, and I wondered anew at the longevity of the Dunedain, for though he was over twenty years older than the Prince, they looked much the same age. And the King certainly did not consider himself a greybeard--he was just now starting a family!  
  
As for 'Captain Thorongil'......'Thorongil' indeed!.....it appeared that Aragorn had served in Gondor's army long ago, and that there were stories that could be told about that. I promised myself to try to find out those stories, from the Prince or anyone else who might have known the King in those days. Not, of course, from any desire to use the information for personal gain, but merely a desire to further explore my family history........  
  
Laughter and cheering arose suddenly across the dance floor, and we all looked to find that Merry and Pippin, desiring to dance, but with a dearth of partners their own size, had discovered the twin nine-year-old daughters of one of the lords allowed to stay up past their bedtime for this special occasion. They were cavorting with them at the edge of the floor, well away from the "serious" dancers. The other members of the Fellowship, Legolas and Gimli and Frodo and Sam stood by, watching and laughing uproariously.  
  
The laughter grew even louder, and was joined by the King's as Pippin's partner, obviously put up to it by the irrepressible perian, left him and endeavored to drag Samwise onto the dance floor. Flushing beet red, the gardner dug his leathery heels into the dance floor as best he could and resisted mightily. The girl, also red-faced from her exertions, was as stubborn as he.  
  
"You have to!" she cried. "I'm a lady and it's impolite to refuse!" More laughter commenced at this imperious statement.  
  
"Lawks, Mr. Frodo!" wailed Samwise, "I don't know nothing about this sort of fancy dancing! Make her stop!"  
  
In an epic act of treachery the likes of which I'd seldom seen, Frodo not only did not make her stop, he shoved Sam bodily into her arms, coming near to toppling them both.  
  
"Go on, Sam!" he called merrily. "Do you think I have nothing better to do than continually push you into your dance partners' arms?" Sam made a despairing noise, then submitted to his doom, and was promptly propelled about the floor to the loud counting and direction of his partner. The one good look I got at his face suggested to me that Pippin had better sleep with one eye open for a while. Meanwhile, Merry's partner had in her turn approached Frodo, who accepted with better grace, bending over her hand to her great gratification, and they moved across the floor in a much more graceful manner.  
  
Beside me, the King was chuckling. "It is good to see them so merry once more, particularly Frodo."   
  
Lord Elrond's mood seemed to have lightened somewhat as well. "Indeed. It is a hopeful sign." 'Hopeful' seemed an odd choice of words to me, but I had no intention of asking the Lord of Imladris to explain himself. Conversation lapsed for a bit as we watched the dance wend its way to its conclusion. The Prince finished his wine swiftly, held out the cup, and the same esquire appeared and vanished with it once more. I wondered how he anticipated his lord's wishes so well, and if I would be taught the trick of it. The dancers were applauded, and they applauded the musicians. Sam escaped his diminutive, domineering partner and fled for his life. Frodo turned his young lady back over to his cousin, and left in pursuit of Sam. The music started up again, and I was surprised to see many more people file onto the floor, some of them older couples.  
  
Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth smiled when he heard the melody. "Ah yes," he murmured. "This one is an easy one." He gave me a suddenly speculative look, I returned him a instantly wary one, and he extended a hand to me with the same imperious command he'd used with his wine goblet.  
  
"Would you care to dance, Lady Hethlin?"  
  
"Nay my lord prince, I don't know how to," I answered, looking to Elrohir for rescue. "I fear I would embarrass you."  
  
"There is nothing you could do on the dance floor that would embarrass me, Hethlin," he replied reasonably, but with that touch of impatience that had lurked beneath his exchanges with me all day.   
  
"Good luck to you in getting her onto the floor," commented Elrohir dryly. "I have already pleaded my cause and been rebuffed." The Prince glanced at him for a brief moment.  
  
"Ah, but I have resources that you do not, my lord prince." He turned back to me and gave me a very pointed look. "Esquire, dance with me. And that is not a request." Aragorn laughed. There was certainly nothing else I could do at that point but move to him as he directed, and allow him to steer me onto the floor. I glanced back over my shoulder to glare at Elrohir.  
  
*You couldn't have left well enough alone?* Elrohir grinned suddenly, laughed as well and waved good-bye.  
  
*You will do well enough, Snowsteel.*  
  
I had my doubts about that, and they translated into a certain stiffness as we joined the other dancers.  
  
"Relax, Hethlin," the Prince murmured as we took position at the end of the line. "I would have not asked you were this not an easy dance. There are few movements, and they are repeated often. This is well within your abilities."  
  
"So you say." He chuckled.  
  
"Trust me. I am familiar with every dance danced in the great halls of Gondor, and I know which ones are easy and which are difficult. I can also tell you that I do not know of a single one where the man devours his partner in the course of things." That absurdity made me laugh, and I did find myself relaxing a bit. He smiled, and laid a warm, firm hand upon my waist.  
  
"Follow my lead."  
  
I did so as the music started, following his murmured directions close to my ear, and his own movements. There were four or five basic steps, and, as he had promised, they were repeated often. After the third repetition, I began to see the way of it, and was familiar enough with what was going on that I actually began to enjoy myself. I shot a quick look up at Prince Imrahil's face and found it intent upon what my feet were doing--then, noticing my regard, he looked directly at me and smiled, a sweet, unguarded smile. I almost stumbled, and he tightened his grip on my waist, supporting me, then loosened it once more so that we could proceed.  
  
During the time I had known him, we had been through some terrible things together, and as I had told him in Edoras, there was nothing of him I had not seen. And I had always known him to be a very handsome and charming man, in an intellectual sort of way. But I had never been so aware of him physically as I was now, moving face to face, then hip to hip, hands meeting and parting. I had recovered myself, and was able to dance, but my face was flushed, and I felt warm, and embarrassed, and confused. His smile was his nephew's, who had owned my heart for far longer than even I had known, and the look and set of his eyes echoed Faramir as well. Their voices too, were similar, I thought, remembering Faramir encouraging me beneath the wings of the Nazguls, and the Prince coaxing me as I sat over Faramir's body on the Pelennor.  
  
But there were differences. Faramir's ability to command his men had never been questioned, at least not by his Rangers, and in battle, if he had ever felt less than sure about his decisions, we had not known it. Yet there had always been a diffidence, a reserve about him, the second-born son who was perpetually having to prove himself. Prince Imrahil, the much-loved only son and heir to his principality, had never had any doubt about his place in life or right to rule, and it gave him a confidence and a power that Faramir did not possess. I suspected that it was that power I was responding to, and wondered a bit deprecatingly if it was simply my nature to be attracted to the men of power who had command of me.  
  
At least part of my confusion was due, I thought, to the fact that I was only newly come to the ability to even feel attraction to a man. Until Elrohir's healing, that part of me had been shut down and sundered--other than my futile longing for Faramir. Now, after Lorien, I was more aware of men as men, and not just fellow soldiers. I could perceive Aragorn's charm and vigor and grace, and understand why it was that Arwen had paid the ultimate price to claim him. Being Elrohir's lover had made me realize that even the ethereal-seeming Elves had a passionate side to them. But this new-found awareness had to be suppressed where my liege-lord was concerned, for exploring that attraction could only lead to dishonor for both of us. And it seemed unfair to Elrohir as well in a way, though we neither of us had bound the other with promises.  
  
The dance wound down to its conclusion, during which the partners bowed and curtseyed to each other, and the men claimed a kiss from their ladies. Prince Imrahil tipped my chin up, and after a moment's hesitation, seeing no objection in my eyes, pressed his lips gently against mine. He tasted of the wine he'd drunk in such quantities earlier, and I found the kiss very pleasant.  
  
He released me when it was done, and when I simply stood there, bemused, gave me a concerned look.  
  
"Hethlin, are you all right?" I shook myself.  
  
"Aye, my lord. Of course. I am sorry--I was elsewhere."  
  
"Apparently." He gave me an encouraging smile. "See? You survived."  
  
"Aye, I did. Am I right in assuming that dancing lessons will be part of my training at Dol Amroth?"  
  
He nodded. "You are. I suspect that you will do very well--you are very graceful when you move." He took my arm and started walking me back towards Elrohir and the King.  
  
"It was truly not as bad as I thought it would be," I remarked.  
  
"Things very seldom are. The person who tries nothing new for fear of seeming ridiculous is far more the fool than the person who freely risks ridicule to experience something different."  
  
"Do you have a saying for every occasion?" I asked. It was an innocent enough question, and asked gently, but for some reason, it stopped him in his tracks.  
  
"Oh dear," he said, bowing his head a little. "I fear I am somewhat the worse for drink, and pompous with it."  
  
"Not pompous, exactly."  
  
"Pretentious, then."  
  
"Not that either. Are you really drunk?"  
  
"Not really. The worse for wear, as I said. More than I should be, less than I could be."  
  
I laughed. "Let me get you off the dance floor then." For some reason, his admission had banished my confusion, returning me once more to the esquire mindset that allowed me to care for him comfortably. We made our way back to the King just as the dancers started their next dance, a more difficult piece. I noticed that the Queen had cozened Faramir into being her partner this time.  
  
"Sire," Prince Imrahil addressed the King, "I fear that weariness has overcome me, and much as I would like to prolong my celebration of this happy day, I must depart now. With your leave, of course."  
  
"By all means, go to bed, Imrahil!" laughed Aragorn. "I'll see you at breakfast in the morning."  
  
"Please give my regards to your lady wife."  
  
"Consider them given."  
  
"And a good night to you, Lord Elrond." Lord Elrond inclined his head gracefully in acknowledgment.  
  
"Have you need of an escort, my lord?" I asked, but he shook his head.  
  
"There are Swan Knights enough here to see to me, Hethlin. Stay and enjoy the party. You may even, my lord Elrohir, convince her to dance with you now that I've accustomed her to the idea." Elrohir nodded, smiling pleasantly.  
  
"Perhaps I will. It has been my experience that Hethlin picks up things very quickly after she is first introduced to them." I sent him a quick barrage of throttling threats, but his smile only broadened. The Prince, unaware of that last exchange, bowed gracefully and departed. I turned to Aragorn.  
  
"I too think I will retire, if you do not mind, sir." The King raised his eyebrow.  
  
"What, is everyone deserting me?" he asked plaintively. Elrohir laughed and clapped him on the back.  
  
"I would think, brother, that you would wish for us to all leave you alone and go to bed!" Lord Elrond let that remark pass without comment, but I thought his lips thinned a little. "I will see Lady Hethlin to her room."  
  
"Very well, brother," Aragorn replied. "Good night, cousin," he said to me, and feeling a little daring, I leaned up and kissed his cheek.  
  
"Be happy, my lord," I murmured into his ear, and he hugged me again.  
  
"I plan on it," he replied. Elrohir, to my surprise and pleasure, embraced his father, was embraced in turn, and then we left the feasting hall.  
Sometime later, the two of us were in bed, pressed close together flesh upon flesh, though this time it was for comfort rather than passion's sake. Moonlight shone through the open balcony door, and we had pulled the fine brocade coverlet up over us, for the night was surprisingly chill for midsummer.  
  
"What was it that troubled you earlier, Snowsteel?" Elrohir asked softly, and turning towards him, I gave him the information he sought directly mind to mind--though not without a bit of trepidation. He was not angered in any way that I could see, and seemed to consider the knowledge of my attraction to the Prince rather dispassionately.  
  
"I think it very healthy, on the whole," he said quietly at last. "I would have become worried after a time if you were unable to be attracted in that way to anyone other than myself. It could be a sign that I had not healed you properly. I have already bound you to myself in so many ways that I did not intend."  
  
"Are you sorry about that?" I asked curiously. He smiled, and tapped my nose with a long finger.  
  
"No, for you have been a great comfort to me of late." The finger rejoined its fellows, and the hand as a whole stroked my cheek. "Will you explore this feeling you have for the Prince?" He sounded genuinely inquisitive and not jealous at all--which was an impressive change from some of his behavior in the past. I shook my head.  
  
"I may not. He is my liege lord. And in truth, I would like to think I learned my lesson about that with Faramir. Indeed, it may just be because he reminds me of Faramir. I fear I may have a habit of being attracted to my commanders. I must put an end to it."  
  
"I think it is more that you have very high standards," Elrohir soothed. "The men you are attracted to are powerful men, but they are also worthy ones. And I will even admit that about the Prince of Ithilien." Which was, I informed him, a very great concession on his part, and I kissed him gratefully, snuggled close and fell asleep.  
Waking in the middle of the night, uneasy for some reason, I discovered that Elrohir had moved away from me, and now lay face up in the bed. The light from Ithil, riding high in the sky, glinted off his silver eyes and the silver tracks of tears upon his cheeks. I watched him silently for a while, unsure of whether he was awake or asleep, and had just decided that he must be asleep when he spoke softly.  
  
"She is in his arms right now, and she is happy, for she has striven for this for a long time as mortals count such things. I can sense her, though I am trying to block her from sensing me. Brother is blunting his sorrow with the pleasures of the flesh among our brethren from Lorien, and Father walks alone upon the ramparts in the moonlight, communing with the stars. As for me, I am here in the bed of a friend. Of the three of us, Father, Brother and myself, I think I have the best of it." Deeply moved, I slid an arm under him, drew him against me once more and held him close, stroking his hair. He did not protest, and in fact I thought he had fallen asleep again. Then, close to dawn, he spoke again.  
  
"Do you believe in the stories, Snowsteel, about the great loves? Do you believe that love is stronger than death?"  
  
"As a mortal, I would like to believe that is true," I murmured, "though I do not think that the people in the stories knew that that was what they were doing at the time." Changeable, odd creature that he was, that actually drew a chuckle from him.  
  
"You are most likely right about that." And I heard no more from him that night. 


	45. The Grandfather

"Greet the day, Snowsteel," came Elrohir's voice softly. My eyes opened, blinking against the sun pouring through the balcony doors. After a moment's panic, I realized that though Anor was well up in the sky, there was still some time before noon.  
  
A strawberry dangled suddenly before my eyes, and a dollop of cream dripped upon my nose. I yelped in surprise, and when my mouth opened, the berry was dropped in. Pushing up on my left elbow, I began to chew the fruit, while a slender elven finger scraped the cream off of my nose, then deposited it in my mouth.  
  
"Would you care for some breakfast before you go to lunch?" my lover inquired ever so politely, . "I should hate for you to be late due to languishing for lack of food." Seeing the barely repressed smirk upon his face, I narrowed my eyes and looked at the tray that sat on his lap, searching for cream or syrup to be used in a retaliatory manner, but was diverted by the presence of...  
  
"Leafcakes! How did you get leafcakes here? Surely your sister did not cook them?"  
  
"I think that my sister had more important things to do this morning, my eternally hungry one. These were prepared for the wedding breakfast, which you and I have both obviously missed. Scandalous creatures that we are, I prevailed upon the worthy Lady Felith to bring us some." His mood was much improved this morning from the night before, but his smug air evaporated as, having learned the trick of it, I swiftly prepared two leafcakes for myself with strawberries inside, and devoured them in three neat bites apiece.  
  
"Leave some for me, Snowsteel! Unlike you, I do not have the prospect of lunch with a long-lost relative to sustain me!"  
  
"You could have gone to the breakfast. And I am sure that you can get Felith to bring you lunch--she thinks you are very beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Prince Imrahil." I rolled out of bed just in time to avoid the napkin that was hurled at my head, and made my way whistling into the bathroom. A quick washing up, then I returned to select my clothing for this important meeting. The elven clothing from Lorien had been hung neatly in my wardrobe, courtesy of Felith, and I stroked the silver-grey outfit thoughtfully, then shook my head with regret.  
  
"It would be a bit cheeky, don't you think, wearing grey for a member of the Grey Company?"  
  
"A little, perhaps," Elrohir agreed. "You could wear the pale yellow, and be a giant, comely buttercup." I glared at him, but he gave me an earnest look. "I like you in the yellow. Truly."  
  
"It's awfully fancy. All of the elven clothes are. We're going for a ride, and it is hot outside--I think I will just dress like I normally would." So I put on a pair of breeches, and a shirt and light tunic in a shade of green-brown, and my old, battered Ranger boots. I belted my sword on out of habit, ran a brush through my hair, and was ready to face the day. Turning back to look at my lover, I found that he had resumed his breakfast, and seemed disinclined to do anything more than recline in bed and complete it.  
  
"What are you going to do today?"  
  
"Oh, I shall rise eventually, and go forth and be social for Arwen's sake. But I'll return for you by sunset." My face fell as he reminded me of what was going to happen that night, and I felt a sudden sense of comforting warmth.  
  
*The worst that can happen, Snowsteel, is that my father will be unable to do anything for you, and nothing will change.*  
  
"That is true," I said aloud. "When you put it that way, I am foolish to be frightened."  
  
"Not foolish," he replied. "You simply have a soldier's reflexes--you hate to be in the hands of the healers." I chuckled.  
  
"There is some truth to that--though most soldiers would say that they would rather be in a healer's hands when they needed care than to have none at all." He nodded at that, leisurely prepared another leaf cake for himself, and devoured it with much obvious and suggestive licking of the lips afterward. I smiled and shook my head.  
  
"If I linger for any more dalliance with you, I'll be late."   
  
He nodded his understanding, while simultaneously giving me elf-puppy eyes. I laughed and departed.  
Coming out of the Citadel, I met Faramir, who was apparently returning from the wedding breakfast. He was nicely dressed in another suit of Ithilien green, and reasonably well-combed for a change. I wondered if his uncle had taken him in hand again.  
  
"Heth!" he said with a smile. "Are you free? We never got the chance to talk about your journey." I gave him an apologetic grin..  
  
"I fear that I am the one who is occupied today. I wish I could, my lord, but I am to meet my grandfather for lunch at noon."  
  
"Your grandfather?" he asked, very much surprised.  
  
"Aye. Lord Litharel, with the Grey Company? He is my mother's father. I just found out yesterday." Faramir pondered that for a moment.  
  
"I wondered why it was that Aragorn commanded me to talk to him, and to answer any questions he had about you! I thought that it might be some sort of Northern Ranger business connected with your father. I never considered that he might be family, though now that I think of it, the possibility was obvious. So you have living kin still, Hethlin? That is marvelous!"  
  
I grinned. "Aye! A grandfather, and grandmother, two uncles and aunts, and all sorts of cousins! Of course they all live up North, and Valar know when I'll get to meet them, but it's nice to know they are there nonetheless." His brow furrowed.  
  
"If you have family in the North, I wonder if the King truly does you a service, commanding you to go with Uncle for two years. Many of the other Rangers are returning to their homes. You served as long and as well as most of them. It seems unfair to keep you from your kin."  
  
"Ah, but how would I ever get there, Faramir? Even with the Dark Lord's defeat, that is still a long and perilous journey, and not one lightly undertaken alone."  
  
"There is an opportunity for you in the near future, Heth. When we return Theoden King to his home, the Grey Company and the folk of Imladris and Lorien will accompany us, and then proceed from there to their respective homes. You could go on with them then if you wished."  
  
"Aye, and you would be free of your troublesome charge at last!" I said lightly. I meant it as a jest, but Faramir looked genuinely taken aback.  
  
"I never meant it that way! I just thought.....you seemed so excited just now at having found your family again....and we both know what it is to lose most of the people you love....I was simply trying to think of a way you might be able to do this if you wished."  
  
For a brief moment, I wondered if his discomfort was due to the fact that I'd struck a little too close to the mark with my jest. After all, to a man who was about to be betrothed to a Rohirric princess, the continued presence at court of a woman who had declared herself in love with him, but whose affections he did not return, had to be something of an embarrassment. But when I looked him hard in the eye, I could find nothing but real distress that I would take what he said the wrong way--and a warmth that, if it were not the passion that I wished for, was at least very far from indifference.  
  
"It is all right, my lord! I know what you truly meant." He gave me a rather sheepish smile.  
  
"We keep missing each other. We must make some time to sit and talk as we used to. It is strange, is it not, that it seems harder to meet with friends in peacetime than it was during the war? Between the arrangements for the King's wedding, and Mablung's, I've hardly had the time to turn about!"  
  
I stared at him for a moment in shock. "Mablung is getting married? He never told me."  
  
Faramir looked at my face, saw my surprise, and spoke reassuringly. "He intended to invite you, of course. You've simply not been around. I do not think he will be wroth with me for telling you, though I am sure he would have preferred to do it himself. It is seven days hence. Every Ranger who is not in the field will be there. He had talked of setting up tents down on the Pelennor, but then the King said that it should be done here, in the Court of the Fountain, as Mablung is one of his most important captains." He gave me a grin then that was, for sober Faramir, almost wicked. "I think that perhaps the King is trying to mend his fences with the Rangers of Ithilien. He's helping with the food as well."  
  
"Will the King officiate, then?" I asked curiously. My lord Steward shook his head.  
  
"No, that falls to me, by Mablung's request. And I'm terrified! I've never married anyone before."  
  
Thinking about what his uncle had said about his duties, I grinned.  
  
"I am sure that you'll do just fine. Look at it this way--it is a far more pleasant duty than saying the last words over people." Faramir nodded, somber again for a moment.  
  
"There's certainly truth in that!"  
  
"Besides, you're a Prince now," I declared airily. "Judging from what Prince Imrahil says, you'll be marrying people all the time. All your White Company men will expect it. And your Rangers. And your more important subjects. Why, I imagine that every Spring you'll be hard pressed to get everything done, what with getting the crops out and getting all your subjects wed so they can plow and plant each other as well!"  
  
"Heth! The things you say sometimes!" he protested, though he was smiling once more. "Plowing and planting indeed! The old adage is right, it would seem."  
  
"Which adage is that? Between you and your uncle, I feel we must have covered them all by now." He laughed.  
  
"The one about taking the girl off of the farm, but not being able to take the farm out of the girl."   
  
I snorted. "Well, if it is true, then your uncle is going to waste a lot of time trying! So--who is this lady Mablung is marrying? Judging from the clothes he was wearing at the awards court, she embroiders well, but I know nothing else about her."  
  
Faramir seemed pleased that he had the information at hand. "Her name is Delyth, and her family are saddlers and leatherworkers. They originally hail from Rohan, but her grandfather moved here about the time my father became Steward. He figured, and rightly so, that the conflict with Mordor would mean much work for leatherworkers. His family acquired some army contracts, and they are quite well-to-do now. They also do fine leatherwork--I believe Uncle's saddle is one of their making." I whistled at that, for I really admired the Prince's saddle, which was finely tooled with a swan and wave design, and decorated with quite a bit of silver.  
  
"But what's she LIKE?" I asked impatiently after a moment. Faramir chuckled.  
  
"She seems very nice, Hethlin. Pretty enough, and young enough. She has unusual hair--sort of sunset-colored."  
  
"Pink?" I asked dubiously.  
  
Faramir laughed. "That's what I get for trying to be poetical, I see! No, I meant more of an orange-gold color. Red and blonde commingled. And it is curly. Very unusual. She is also a very strong-minded young woman. More than strong enough to keep Mablung in hand, to my mind."  
  
"Will he be happy, do you think?" He shrugged.  
  
"I am the last person to ask about that, having no experience of marriage yet myself. But I have seen them together, and they do seem to get along well."  
  
"I am behind the times, it would seem." A stewardly finger wagged at me.  
  
"Only in this. Remember, you knew about the Queen before almost everybody else! One cannot be the first to know about everything, though my father certainly spent a lot of time trying." I gave him a surprised look, for it was the first time I'd heard him mention his father so casually since Lord Denethor's death. But he did not seem to notice, casting a quick glance skyward.  
  
"I am keeping you from your meeting. Promise me you'll find some time for me in the next few days?" He grinned beguilingly, and I felt my heart do its usual quick thump. "If for no other reason than that I am holding your back pay! Which is a not inconsiderable amount."  
  
I hadn't even thought about it, since most of my needs had been provided for. "That would come in handy, wouldn't it? I need to get a wedding gift for Mablung. Something nice." I'd never really shopped for anyone before and the prospect was both intimidating and pleasing.  
  
"Just stop by my office when you want it," he explained. "If I am not there, my secretary will have orders to give it to you." I thanked him, we clasped hands, then I pelted off to the Dol Amroth stables, where I found that Fortune was glossy and groomed and well-rested, and that someone had very kindly cleaned and oiled my tack. I saddled him swiftly, then led him to the courier stables, where I found my grandfather standing with a tall grey horse. Fortune gave greeting as we approached, and I realized Grandfather's mount was a mare.  
  
"Behave yourself!" I chided him, and unrepentant, he bugled again. I gave him a swift knee to the belly, partly for punishment, and partly because he was known to suck air every now and again, tightened my girth and swung aboard. Grandfather followed suit.  
  
"He's a handsome fellow, Hethlin," he said, indicating Fortune, who was dancing a bit.  
  
"The Prince gifted him to me after the retreat," I answered. "Would you like to ride first, or eat first, Grandfather?"  
  
"Did you get breakfast?" he asked in his turn. I shrugged.  
  
"Not really. But I've not been awake that long either." He smiled.  
  
"Busy night?"   
  
I sucked in a breath and thought very hard about not turning pink. "No. Not particularly."  
  
He chuckled. "Let's eat first. Do you know of a place? It needn't be anything fancy."  
  
"There's the Red Dog. It's a tavern I used to eat at a lot when I was doing Guard shifts for Lord Hurin. The food is good, but plain. The beer is better." Litharel nodded decisively.  
  
"That sounds good." We urged our horses out of the courier yard, and began to take the winding way down to the lower levels. The level of traffic had increased greatly in the short time I had been gone, and people were moving into some of the houses that had been abandoned. I noticed that some of the older, more run-down quarters were being demolished, by order of the Steward, according to one sign I saw. These changes, which Litharel had been privy to while I had not, served as a subject of conversation all the way to the tavern.  
  
There, by virtue of my long acquaintance, we were allowed to tether our horses in the small back yard. Most of the Red Dog's patrons arrived upon their own two feet. Or at least I thought the privilege was due to me--till we entered by the kitchen door and Eiris the cook wiped her floury hands upon her apron and exclaimed in pleasure at the presence of my grandfather.  
  
At my meaningful look, he shrugged, smiling. "I like their meat pies. Aragorn recommended the place to me." I stifled a grin.  
  
"No meat pies on the menu today, Lord Litharel," the cook declared. "But we have cold roast chicken, and pickled vegetables to go with it. New-baked bread and fresh-churned butter too."  
  
"That sounds lovely, Eiris--set us up with some of your excellent beer as well. Hethlin and I will be in the common room."   
  
"I didn't know you knew Hethlin. She's a good customer--and a good bouncer, at need."  
  
Grandfather smiled. "Aye, I imagine that she is. She is also my granddaughter." Eiris' eyes widened.  
  
"You don't say! And you from so far up North! What folk say is true--it's a small kingdom, when all is said and done!"  
  
"Indeed." And we passed out of the kitchen into the tavern room, where we were greeted by Traghan, the tavern keep. To my amusement, he showed us to the table in the corner, where we could put our backs to the wall. This time I did grin at Litharel, who was unapologetic.  
  
"Old habits die hard, and this is a good one to keep in any event." The beer arrived, and we sipped slowly, waiting for the food. My grandfather gave me a serious look.  
  
"Hethlin, at some time in the future, I will wish to have you tell me what happened to your family, but not today. I daresay you have enough on your mind with what will occur this evening, and I would like our first day together to be a happy one. So--what would you like to talk about?"  
  
"I should like to know about your family....I mean our family--my family up North." He nodded.  
  
"Fair enough."   
  
I laughed many times in the next hour, as he told tales of the sometimes not-so-derring-do of my uncles and aunts and cousins and grandmother. I discovered that dour and sober as they seemed, the Northern Dunedain possessed a sense of humor--it was just a very dry and dark one, as might be expected from the grim sort of life they led. And he gave me much information about that as well--the chill of the climate, the solitary beauty of the Wild, the constant danger that lay behind every tree and rock.  
  
In his turn, he wanted to know of my life as a Ranger of Ithilien, and though I do not think of myself as a great teller of tales, he too laughed as I spoke of my friends among the Rangers, and of how it had been to patrol the very fences of Mordor itself.  
  
The food was excellent, as was the beer, and we passed a very enjoyable couple of hours talking before we decided to finally get up and go for our ride. Litharel paid the bill, despite my objections, and before long, we were mounted and riding forth slowly in the heat of the afternoon sun. We had taken the Causeway Road more or less by accident , and were someway down it when I saw the hill in the distance and drew rein instinctively. Grandfather looked at me curiously.  
  
"Hethlin, are you well?" I stared at the hill, which was in truth not particularly impressive, and seemed rather innocuous in the afternoon light, and began to shiver despite the heat. "Lass, whatever is the matter?"  
  
"We should not have come this way," I muttered. "That is the place he called me to."  
  
"Who--" my uncle started to say, then understanding dawned. "We can turn about, Hethlin," he coaxed softly. "Come, we'll go back towards the City, maybe down towards the Harlond."  
  
I shook my head slowly. "No, let's go on for a bit." He looked at me intently for a moment, then nodded.   
  
"Very well. But if you change your mind, let me know." Starting forward once more, we proceeded silently at a walk. Fortune, sensing my unease, began to jerk his head and mouth the bit. The hill grew larger and larger till it seemed to loom out of all proportion to its size, as we drew rein at the foot.  
  
I sat and studied it for a time, my eyes traveling up to the crest, and then back down to where the beast had been. The grass was long and green upon it, and there was no obvious sign that evil had ever walked there. My grandfather was silent.  
  
"Will you hold Fortune for me, Grandfather?" I asked.  
  
"Aye, lass." Dismounting, I handed him the reins, and walked forward, retracing the steps I'd made in spirit on that fateful night. The going was rather harder in the flesh, and I was puffing slightly when I reached the top.  
  
There, I looked about, marking approximately where the Witch-King had stood, and I had knelt, and his subordinates had stood by, and then I paced over the area, searching. Close up as I was, there were no signs discernible--even to one who had been trained as a Ranger. The long grass must have grown over them. And it occurred to me that it was silly to think that his being there for such a short time could have marked the place in any fashion--though it was said that ground where his dead beast had been burned was still scorched and bare months later.  
  
As one will wiggle a loose tooth with one's tongue, ignoring the pain because of the instinctive knowledge that things will be better when the tooth is gone, I cast my mind back over what had happened here. And I found that, whether it was because I had shared the tale with others, or for some other reason, it was not as terrifying a recollection as it had been. Here, even upon the very spot he had stood, Anor was shining, and a warm breeze was blowing, and he was utterly destroyed. I looked out in the distance, over the Pelennor, which was gradually being healed of its scars, to where the sun sparkled upon the River, and then closer, to where the banner of the King flew on the topmost turret of the White Tower, and lifted my head and laughed.  
  
Then I turned to go down and rejoin my uncle, and the toe of my boot hit against something hidden in the grass. Curious, I stooped and grubbed it up with my fingers, and froze.  
  
It was the head of a hawk or eagle, and part of one wing, graven in black stone, a fractured fragment of the amulet he had worn at his belt. Fine cracks crazed its surface, and holding it, I was suddenly transported back to the moment I had defied Angmar and it had broken--and the terror and despair that had come afterwards. I stood slowly, shuddering, staring down at it in horror--and then the memory came to me of the other feeling I had had at that moment, of a great burden I'd never known I carried being set down at last. And with that, the horrible frightened feeling went away, and I reflected upon the old adage about evil acts often having good ends--for had I not been swept to the Grey Lands, I might never had met Elrohir. I curled my hand about the fragment, for I deemed it harmless enough, and went down to my grandfather.  
  
Litharel had dismounted, and was busy trying to keep Fortune from flirting with his mare, who was not in season, and was not amused. He turned the stallion's reins over to me with a sigh of relief, then gave me a curious, concerned stare.  
  
"I found this up there," I told him, and handed him the fragment. He turned it over in his hand, frowning a little as he examined it.  
  
"What is it?" he asked. I explained, and for a moment he looked as if he were considering tossing it to the ground, but after some intense scrutiny, handed it back to me. "There is no evil left in it that I can feel."  
  
"Can you really tell? Do all Northern Rangers know how to do that?" I was intrigued.  
  
"Most of us have some sort of sense for it," he replied. "You do as well, or you would not have handled the amulet so casually."   
  
"Do you think it is safe to keep it?" His expression grew distant for a moment, his eyes sad, and I was wondering if he were remembering all the friends and comrades in arms he had lost over the years. Then he shook himself a bit.  
  
"I think that you should keep it," Litharel, Ranger of the North, said, "as a reminder that resisting evil, no matter how futile it may seem in the short-term, is never in vain. Your ancestors spent their lives trying to redeem the sins of their forefather. They fought hard, had to endure the disdain and suspicion of their kin and died young more often than not. Many times they must have thought it was all in vain, but perhaps it was not so. Perhaps all of their sacrifices weakened the curse, till the day came when you could end it and free them." He smiled somberly at me, and mounted his mare. "I think they would have been proud of you and I know that your father and your mother would have been as well." I bowed my head, blinked for a moment against sudden tears, and nodded.  
  
"Thank you, Grandfather." Then I tucked the eagle head into my belt pouch, and got on Fortune. Grandfather clicked to his mare and urged her south, towards the Harlond. Fortune, not wanting to lose sight of his ladylove, followed.  
We did not speak, riding in contemplative thought, for a long time after that. Eventually, I broke the silence.  
  
"Do you know, I have been thinking about something. It is curious, is it not? I am a woman, and I was the one able to break the Witch-King's curse on my family, and Eowyn is a woman and was able to destroy him when no one else could."  
  
"Oh, I don't think that curious at all," said my grandfather with a straight face. "In fact, it is the one thing about all of this that I understand completely. Angmar was just another one of those gentlemen who have no luck with women." I stared at him for a moment in disbelief, then both of us started laughing at the same time.  
  
"What I have wondered," he said after the hilarity had died down, "is if at least part of your father's reason for moving south wasn't to force the issue with Angmar. He always felt your family's estrangement from the other Dunedain most keenly, and it may have been that he hoped by moving so close to Minas Morgul, he would tempt the Witch-King into calling him, thereby giving Halaran the opportunity to end the curse."  
  
I considered that. "If that was his intention, he never told me. In fact, I did not know anything about the Witch-king and my ancestor until he called me. And though I had asked Father why it was he moved south, he would never tell me, or permit Mother to do so. The King had to give me the details." Litharel's brow furrowed.  
  
"When the idea occurred to me, I cursed your father for taking Liraniel into harm's way, and my daughter for being blind enough to follow him," he admitted. "But I must admit that if that were his intention, it succeeded--though not in the way he would have anticipated."  
  
"I cannot believe that my father would have intentionally endangered my mother in any way!" I exclaimed with some heat, but Grandfather remained calm.  
  
"I don't think you truly understand yet what life is like for us up North, Hethlin," he said. "Our women are expected to be able to take care of themselves, for many of the menfolk are often abroad. I am not saying that every woman is a Ranger--far from it, or even that all of them can fight. But a fair number are proficient with sword, bow or knife, so that they may defend their homes and children if trouble comes while the men are absent. And it does come, fairly frequently. Women have been killed in battle. So Halaran might very well have considered it worth the risk. Or not even that risky, as we count such things. And Liraniel may have agreed."  
  
"If that is the case, Grandfather, then it would seem to me you have no cause to complain," I said, still irritated upon my father's behalf. Then, not wanting to get into an argument with him when we were just beginning to enjoy each other's company, I changed the subject. "It would also seem that I would not be the freakish creature up there that I am here."  
  
"And who exactly believes you to be a freak?" he inquired, his hostility and attention diverted from my father towards my unknown oppressors, as I had hoped. So I told him of my array of favor-seeking suitors at the wedding. He grimaced.  
  
"If you truly are seeking a husband, Hethlin, though as a rule our women do not seriously start searching until they are thirty, I could easily find you at least five young men of excellent breeding to choose from, who would gladly pay court to you because you are a Ranger, not in spite of it. Who would appreciate your accomplishments for what they are, and not think you any less the woman because of them."  
  
Wistfully, I considered this prospect. "Five young men, you say?"  
  
"Five young men that I can think of off the top of my head, that I know personally, and can vouch for. There are plenty of others, equally worthy."  
  
"And they would not mind that I was scarred?"  
  
"There's not a one of us who isn't."  
  
"Would I have to lay down my sword if I were to wed?"  
  
"That would be between you and your husband. I will not lie to you--woman Rangers are uncommon, particularly ones that stay in the field for a long time. What is more common are the women who join us for a period of time, for vengeance, or for a son or husband who is unable to serve. And as a rule, they don't walk the Wild when bearing children. But aside from that, no one among the Dunedain thinks anything the less about a woman who is a Ranger."  
  
"It sounds as if I'm in the wrong place entirely."  
  
"Yes it does, doesn't it?" my grandfather agreed gently. "And you know without my telling you what the Eagles would want." Lost in thought, I said nothing for a long time after that.  
We parted as Anor was dropping into the West. He kept me company as I unsaddled and groomed Fortune, then I did the same as he took care of his mare. We had chatted companionably about many different things during the rest of our ride, but most particularly about his journey with the King on the Paths of the Dead, which I found eerily fascinating, especially his account of the Dead attacking the Corsairs at Pelargir. We parted company at the door of the Citadel. He hugged me gently, after first giving me a look to determine if I would suffer such an embrace, and I returned it gladly.  
  
"Be well, granddaughter," he said softly, and I promised that I would. I made my way slowly up to my room, and opened the door. Elrohir awaited me inside, though no one else had arrived, and nothing looked to have been changed in preparation for Lord Elrond's administrations. He was reading one of the books Faramir had lent me, but laid it aside upon my entrance. A sudden queasy feeling washed over me, followed promptly by a surge of calming reassurance from him.  
  
"Good evening, Snowsteel," he said quietly, then got up, moved to my wardrobe and reached within to pull forth one of my as yet unused night shifts. "Go ahead and put this on, then come back out, and I'll tuck you in bed." I wrinkled my nose at him, and he laughed softly, and tossed the gown to me.  
  
Going into the bathing room, I stripped and got into the night shift, wondering why it was I felt so naked. After all, it wasn't as if Elrohir had not seen me without clothes upon any number of occasions. Though he hadn't said to, I took a quick cat-bath with the water in the basin, brushed my teeth and combed my hair, not wanting to appear less than clean and tidy, even when unconscious, in front of Lord Elrond.  
  
When I came back out, Elrohir had turned the bed down for me and was pouring some liquid from a crystal flask into a small crystal cup. He looked up and smiled. "I thought you would look nice in that," he said, and I was belatedly reminded of who had selected most of my recent wardrobe. "Go on, get into bed," he urged, and when I had done so, he handed me the delicate little cup.  
  
"Drink it all--you will find it pleasant enough, I think." I did so, and found it had a nice minty taste, though it burned its way down my throat to my belly with warm potency.  
"You didn't eat after lunch, did you?" he asked, and I shook my head.  
  
"What happens now?" I inquired, my throat tight as I settled back against the pillows. Elrohir pulled up the coverlet and tucked it about me.  
  
"Now you get sleepy, and I stay with you while you fall asleep."  
  
"You couldn't just make me sleep yourself?" His slender hand rose to stroke my face gently.  
  
"What I can do would not suffice by itself. You need to be deeper than that. The medicine I just gave you will help you achieve that state." I did not understand what he meant, was not sure I wanted to, and was beginning to feel too sleepy to care. I yawned.  
  
"That stuff works fast." He smiled.  
  
"Yes, it does." His one hand continued to stroke my face and hair, while the other clasped my hand gently. I found his touch very soothing. The door opened softly, and I saw Lord Elrond enter, accompanied, to my surprise, by Lord Celeborn, and some servitor elves who were bringing in chests and sheets and other things that might have caused me great anxiety had I been more awake. But I was already sinking into darkness when the Lord of Lorien glided over and touched my forehead with a finger.  
  
"Good night, Hethlin. Sleep deep and peacefully," he murmured, and I knew no more. 


	46. The Healer

"Captain Hethlin! You've finally come for your tankard?" The interior of the potter's shop was dim compared to the already glaring light outside, and cooler as well. There was a pleasant smell of damp earth. A latticework partition with a door in the center separated Edryd's work area from the front room wherein were displayed his wares upon wooden shelves. The potter himself stood in that doorway, wiping his hands upon a clay-smeared smock, and smiling at me, while his wife Moreth nodded from the corner where she was busily working a spinning wheel. Their daughter Pilara, sometimes surnamed the Oft-lost, was stationary for once, intent it seemed upon unrolling every skein of yarn in her mother's wool basket.  
  
"For that, and for something else. I bring you a request from the King." I handed him the very official-looking letter, sealed with the royal seal, and watched his eyes widen, and jaw drop.  
  
"A request from the King? For me? What is this about, Captain?" he sounded as if he did not know whether to be glad or affrighted, and I moved swiftly to reassure him.  
  
"It is nothing ill, Edryd! Hopefully, a bit of good fortune. He needed a potter, and I gave him your name." His expression lightened considerably.  
  
"A commission? From the King? Why didn't you say so? Really, Captain, you scared me half to death!"  
  
"It's not a commission exactly. You had better read the letter." He opened it and scanned it quickly enough while I waited, then turned to his wife.  
  
"Moreth, the King wishes us to close shop for a week, to take an apprentice! He promises me twice our usual weekly income, and a contract for wares for the royal kitchen, if I will teach this person full-time. What say you?"  
  
Moreth, rescuing some yarn from her daughter's clutches, gave me a keen look. "I say that it seems strange to me. Who is this apprentice? Some lordling with a desire to play in the mud? It seems a princely offer, but it is almost too good. What are you not telling us about this 'apprentice', Captain? Is he difficult? Perhaps feeble-minded?" There was a faint chuckle outside the door, and I felt movement behind me. Stepping aside, I watched as Lord Celeborn entered, bending his tall head so as to not hit it upon the lintel. Edryd's jaw dropped for the second time in five minutes, and his wife's for the first, as the elf-lord, seeming to shimmer in the dimness, regarded them with gentle humor.  
  
"I have been called both difficult and feeble-minded at various times in my life, but I would like to believe that it is not so," he remarked with a smile. "Perhaps you would care to judge for yourself, good potter? I promise to be an attentive student." Edryth was unable to do aught but stammer a stunned assent, while his usually talkative wife looked on in astounded silence. Pilara, looking up from the yarn basket, was more eloquent. Her already large eyes grew wider still, then a huge smile came over her face and she scrambled to her feet. Her stout legs were almost a blur as she scurried forward to throw herself upon Lord Celeborn.  
  
"Tree-man! Tree-man!" she caroled, reaching upward with plump arms from somewhere around the region of his knees.  
  
Celeborn of Lorien smiled in return. It lit the room like the moon rising above the trees. "May I?" he asked Pilara's parents politely. Her mother nodded after a moment, still mute with disbelief, and he stooped to lift the little girl up. Her chubby fingers immediately twined tightly into his silver locks, and it looked to me as if she were tugging them quite roughly, but he did not seem to mind. "You are a wise young lady! Yes, I am a tree-man of sorts. Would you like me to tell you a story about some real tree-men? They are called Ents." As Pilara burbled with enthusiasm, Lord Celeborn glanced over at me, his eyes alight with pleasure over the child. "I think we will do well enough now, Lady Hethlin." Knowing a dismissal when I heard one, I bowed and left the humble room where it seemed a star had fallen to earth. It wasn't until I was well down the street that I realized I had forgotten the tankard.  
  
Two days before, when I had awakened from Lord Elrond's healing, it had been night, and I had been much impressed, for I thought it had taken but a couple of hours. Then Elrohir, sleeping in the chair beside my bed, awakened and told me that I had been asleep for the whole of the night in which they had worked, and the following day as well! Although Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel and the Queen had assisted Lord Elrond in his task, he was much fatigued when he was finished. But he had been successful, as he informed me when he came to check upon my progress the next morning.  
  
"You are now subject to the same concerns as any other young woman, Lady Hethlin," he explained after looking in my eyes, listening to my chest, and laying a gentle hand upon my belly. "And so I bid you be careful, should you lie with anyone but my son. The women of the Dunedain in the North have a tonic they take while in the field, so as to be spared their monthly and the possibility of a child, but it is not recommended for women who wish to bear, and in any event is made of plants native to the North. I do not know if they would be available here, and I fear I am ill-equipped to counsel you in any event--my people have no need for such things. Should you wish for some advice upon the matter, I would recommend the Warden of the Houses of Healing--providing you have an open afternoon." His face was absolutely serious, but I thought I detected a deeply buried glint of humor in his eyes.  
  
"I know the Warden well, sir. I spent some time in his house myself. And you are correct, as usual--he is a man who loves to talk about his work."  
  
"That is one way of putting it." His tone was dry, but not hostile, and I took my courage in hand.  
  
"My lord, I wish to thank you for this. I know that you do not like me. It was a great kindness for you to take such trouble upon my account. You do not know how much it means to me." My eyes started to burn, to my dismay, and I blinked several times to make them stop.  
  
Lord Elrond folded his hands gracefully in his lap, then looked down and studied them as he spoke. I suddenly realized that he was doing me the courtesy of allowing me privacy to compose myself.  
  
"As has been pointed out to me, it is my duty as a healer to lend aid and succor where I may," he said, the corner of his mouth drawn up wryly. Elrohir had promised me immortality in his memories, and it seemed at if my liege lord had unintentionally achieved the same thing; to be remembered ever after, even in Valinor, as the cheeky mortal who had had the nerve to remind Lord Elrond of his duty.  
  
"Besides, I knew your father. And his father, and many of the others of your house. Over the centuries, I watched them try to expiate your ancestor's treachery with acts of valor and their own blood. Over and over again, I witnessed this. I healed several of them, and at least two of them are buried in that place in Imladris we keep for the Dunedain who are brought there to be healed but do not survive."  
  
"It seemed to me rather unfair that when the curse had finally been ended, your house should end with it as well. There is so much else that is ending........In truth, I found that it was comforting to me to be able to preserve and restore something. And whether I like it or not, or you like it or not, we are kindred from afar, as are all the Dunedain. I swore an oath long ago to guide and protect my brother's children. This was but one of the last things I will do to keep that oath before they pass from my care entirely."  
  
"Whatever your reasons, my lord, know that I will always be grateful." He nodded, then turned with obvious relief to more practical matters, asking if I were in any discomfort. I wasn't much, rather to my surprise, given what he had told me to expect earlier--it wasn't any worse than a bad monthly. That seemed to please him, though he left me some medicine to take should things get worse, and told me that I should stay in bed for the day, and perhaps the next if I still felt weak. After that, I would be free to do as much as I felt like doing, though he said that it might be a week before I felt truly well again.  
  
And as matters turned out, Elrohir was unable to continue in his role as my faithful nurse, and was forced to bid me a regretful farewell, for he and his brother, Glorfindel, Faramir, Lord Legolas and a suitable escort of elves and City Guard set out that day for Ithilien. The Prince of Mirkwood was thinking of bringing some Elves down to Ithilien from his kingdom, and wished to scout out the area. Faramir was also going to take the opportunity to decide where he wished to build his manor or castle, or whatever it was he had planned for Emyn Arnen.  
  
I had thought that I would spend the day convalescing by myself, catching up on my reading, but that did not happen. About an hour after Lord Elrond left, my grandfather arrived to make sure that I did not need anything and chatted with me for a while. Then at lunch-time, Prince Imrahil and Princess Lothiriel arrived, carrying a large vase of roses from their garden, followed by a blushing Felith with a tray of food for three people. When they confirmed that I was indeed glad for some company, they spent a pleasant hour with me, Lothiriel conversing cheerfully about her new horse, and some goings-on at court she thought I would find amusing.   
  
After they departed, I dozed off for a while, to be awakened by a tentative tap at the door in the middle of the afternoon. When I bade the knocker enter, Master Samwise poked his head in tentatively.  
  
"I thought to take care of the plants, miss, but they tell me you are ill, so if you do not wish to be bothered, then just say so and I'll go." I smiled.  
  
"By all means come in, Master Gamgee. I'm enjoying them so much, I should hate to see them suffer for the lack of your care." He gave me a shy grin, his cheeks rosy with embarrassment at the sight of me in my nightgown, and sidled into the room. A stout manservant followed with a couple of cans of water, which he carried out to the balcony, then bowed to me and to Master Samwise and departed.  
  
"You're very kind, miss," murmured the hobbit, and to my surprise, he too had brought me flowers, a mixed bouquet put up in a small vase. "I thought you might like these, though they look mighty plain next to this lot," he said, indicating the Dol Amroth roses. "My word, but those are beautiful!"  
  
"I think your flowers are just as beautiful, Master Gamgee. They put me in mind of the bouquets my mother would put upon our table at home." That obviously pleased him, and I was struck by an idea. "Since you like his roses so much, have you seen the Prince's gardens at his townhouse?" He shook his head. "Would you like me to ask him to let you see them? I'm sure he would be glad to."  
  
"I shouldn't like to put him to any trouble, Lady Hethlin."  
  
Never had I known such a modest, unassuming hero! "It would be no trouble if it pleased you, Master Samwise! He would be glad of the opportunity to do something to make you comfortable. If he had been home of late, he would have invited you by now himself, I am certain of that. And he likes flowers and plants--we talked for a long time on the way to Lorien about the sorts that grow in Dol Amroth, for some of them differ from what grows here and in Anorien. He would enjoy and be honored by your visit." Samwise blushed again.  
  
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'll own I'd be much obliged, miss." I promised that I would see to matters and he went out to tend to his green friends on the balcony. That took but a few minutes, then he carried the empty water cans to the door one at a time, set them down outside, bowed and wished me farewell and to feel better, and departed. I picked up a book, and started to read it, then dozed off propped up by my pillows, the book held open by my hand.  
  
Another knock on the door woke me about an hour later, and a head somewhat higher from the floor than Samwise's stuck itself in at my request to enter.  
  
"Getting a bit too high and mighty for your old friends these days?" a familiar and much-missed voice grumped. "'Tis a sad state of affairs when the only way I can track you down is to wait until you're bedridden!"  
  
"Well, 'tis a sad state of affairs when I have to find out from the Captain that you're getting married!" I retorted. "Get in here, Mablung!" He did so, smiling, and I noted that he was carrying a bottle.  
  
"What's that?" I asked suspiciously.  
  
"Medicine," he replied in a matter-of-fact manner. "That is, if your healer allows it."  
  
"The question never came up. He knows very little about the sort of company I keep." That statement drew a harrumph from him, and at the familiar, homey sound I grinned and beckoned that he should sit in the chair beside the bed.  
  
"You have any cups in this fancy room of yours?" he asked.  
  
"Look in that cupboard over there. No, not that one, that's the wardrobe. The other one. There are sheets and towels, and I think I saw a couple of goblets on the top shelf." He found them, retrieved them, uncorked the bottle with his long knife without getting too much cork into the wine, and poured half a cup for each of us.  
  
"Ranger tea," he declared, giving me mine, and I grinned again. "To fallen comrades," came his solemn toast, and I answered in kind, finding that the wine was actually reasonably good. Then came my toast.  
  
"To love, and marriage. And letting your friends know about it." Mablung grimaced.  
  
"I would have told you, Heth, had you been here, right along with the Captain. The Valar know I didn't tell the others until I had to! They have been insufferable--the endless jokes and jibes, and wanting to drag me off every single night to go drinking till dawn! Not to mention taking up a collection to buy me a wench! As if I'd be capable of anything of the sort, should Delyth find out about it!"  
  
I smiled, amused. "Faramir said that she was pretty. Do you truly love her, Mablung?" His weather-beaten face reddened, much to my delight, and he cleared his throat more than once before he answered, but he was straightforward enough when he did.  
  
"Yes, that I do, lass. So the Captain says she's pretty?" That seemed to please him.  
  
"Indeed. He also said that she'd have no trouble keeping you in line."  
  
"There's some truth to that," he sighed. "You'd think that after growing up with my sisters, I'd choose a meek woman, someone biddable and sweet, but no. Delyth is no frail flower."  
  
"You couldn't live with a meek woman and you know it. Your sisters aside, you spent too much time with me."  
  
"Oh, you had your meek moments, in the beginning at least. Wouldn't say boo to a goose. Then things changed, somehow....." His voice trailed off in mock puzzlement, and I grinned.  
  
"I became corrupted, and a Ranger."  
  
"That will do it every time," he agreed, and then gave me a serious look, gesturing at the bed. "What is all this about, Heth? I heard some story about you taking down a bunch of orcs on the Road, but you looked well enough at the wedding. Did you get out of bed too soon?"  
  
I shook my head. "I'm quite recovered from that, Mablung." And I was--whatever Lord Elrond had done to heal my insides had also mended my hand and the last of the soreness from the battle at Min-rimmon. I'd also noticed to my amazement that my scars seemed much reduced in appearance as well. They were not gone by any means, they simply looked as if the fading process that had taken place over the last four years had been accelerated, and were a fainter, white-silver that was not so obvious. The only thing I could still complain of was the ache in my belly, and a weary feeling.  
  
"Lord Elrond is a very great healer and the Prince talked to him and got him to agree to try to heal me."  
  
"Heal the injuries you got in that fight?"  
  
"Nay--he healed what the orcs did to me. Made it so that I can have children." Mablung stared at me for a moment, astounded. His face reddened slightly again, as he probably considered what that healing might entail. Then he shook himself, and a big smile spread slowly across his face.  
  
"Oh, Heth! Lass. That is wonderful! I am very glad for you!" His sword and bow-callused hand reached out and clasped mine, and I squeezed it, blinking a bit.  
  
"Thank you, Mablung. I am rather happy right now myself."  
  
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You'll have to be careful now, lass. Have an eye to that elf lord! He's liable to try to trick you into his bed, from the looks of him. Make you earn that bow he gave you."  
  
"It's a little late to be worrying about that, Mablung!" I laughed. His face darkened, he frowned, and I moved swiftly to reassure him. "We are lovers, 'tis true, but he asked, and I agreed. And it wasn't for the bow. We've been pretty close as friends for a while now. And you needn't worry about any unintended children--elves don't have children unless they wish to."  
  
"Lovers, heh? I'm not sure I like that idea much, Heth," he grumbled. "Nothing against the Queen, or her kindred, but they are an uncanny lot."  
  
"Mablung," I replied gently, "you and the other Rangers are the reason that this happened." And I finally explained to him what had happened the night he brought Elladan and Elrohir to my bedside in the Houses of Healing. His eyes widened in disbelief at my description of the Grey Lands, and his brow furrowed as I explained about the bond between Elrohir and myself.  
  
"It sounds as if you're near married to that fellow already! All this business about being able to talk to each other in your heads......it's strange, Heth, and that's a fact! I wish I'd never brought the two of them to you now."  
  
"If you had not, I would have died. They were the only people who could have saved me, besides possibly the King, and they seemed to think that even he could not have done what they did. You were only looking out for me, like you always have. There is no harm done."  
  
"So you say now. But does he intend to marry you, or just keep dallying? Because if he doesn't do right by you, he and I could find ourselves having a little shooting contest, elf-lord or no."  
  
I smiled ruefully at my friend's fierce protectiveness. "He'd win, Mablung. He's had nearly three thousand years to practice." Mablung blinked as that soaked in. "And I will not marry him. He is a Peredhil, a half-elf. Mortal blood runs in his veins. If he chose to wed with me, he would lose his immortality, grow old and die, even as the Queen will because she married the King. I cannot do that to him."  
  
Mablung looked surprised, and then thoughtful. "The Queen will.......I wondered how that was going to work out! How did you find out about all of this?"  
  
"The King, and Elrohir of course. I've learned quite a bit about Elves over the last couple of months."  
  
He took another gulp of his wine suddenly, shaking his head as he did so. "So it seems, so it seems.......Are you just going to keep on fooling around with this fellow, then?" There was a faint tinge of disapproval in his voice, and I blushed a bit.  
  
"Do you see the men of Gondor lining up to make an honest woman of me? It is true that I received three proposals of marriage during the wedding festivities: from a boy of seventeen, whose father put him up to it because I was the King's kinswoman; an old codger who said I could sleep with whomever I wished so long as I gave him access to the King; and from a fat merchant who wanted trade concessions. Would you have me make such a marriage, and live miserable the rest of my life for my so-called 'reputation's' sake? I have it on good authority that I have no reputation, Mablung--I was running around in the wilderness for four years with two hundred men!"  
  
He bristled indignantly at that. "We none of us ever laid a hand upon you in that way, Heth! Aside from the danger of battle, you were as safe with us as if you'd been on your own farm!" I sighed wearily.  
  
"I know that Mablung, you know it, the Captain knows it, and every Ranger in the troop knows it. But no one else believes it! It seems impossible to them that men could remain decent and good in the face of temptation--even if I were never that much of a temptation!" He harrumphed. "Why it should be so hard to believe, given recent events, I don't know, but there you have it." The Prince's words, I decided, would serve perfectly well for the next part of my explanation. "So I have a choice--I can live my own life to please myself, or spend the rest of it dancing to other peoples' tunes in a futile effort to please them. I have decided to please myself. And right now, it pleases me to be lovers with Elrohir ." Draining my own glass in one long draught, I plopped back against my pillows.  
  
Mablung gave me a troubled look. "What do you think the Captain would say about that, Heth?"  
  
"The Captain," I replied tersely, "is no longer my commander, or my liege, for that matter. He is not my kinsman, that I must apply to him for permission to marry or indulge in a dalliance. The King has given me dominion over my own house. And any other claim Faramir might have had upon me died the day he plighted troth with Eowyn of Rohan."   
  
My friend raised his eyebrows at my vehemence. "I am sorry about that, lass." I stared at the goblet in my hands, running my thumbs over the pretty carvings.  
  
"It obviously wasn't meant to be, Mablung. All the things that would have kept me from him have been resolved, they've just been resolved too late. If I had known three months ago that this," and I waved a hand over my belly, "could be mended, I'd have given Eowyn quite the fight over him, even if I'd still thought myself a commoner."  
  
"I have no doubt that you would have. And I know who my money would have been on." I wrinkled my nose, considered in many circles a fearsome sight.  
  
"That's kind of you, but the smart money would be on her. From the moment he first saw her, I had no chance. Though I would have tried, I really would have tried."  
  
He nodded acknowledgment, then frowned worriedly. "Heth? You're not with Lord Elrohir because you want to make Faramir jealous, are you?" The Captain of the South Ithilien Rangers looked as if the question left a bad taste in his mouth, but he asked it nonetheless.  
  
I did not take offense. "It does look that way, doesn't it? On the surface of things? But I'm not. Elrohir would know if I were using him in that way. Not that he might not play along, just for mischief--he doesn't much care for Faramir at all!" I set the goblet upon the table beside the bed, and Mablung, after an inquiring glance at me, filled it again.  
  
"No, we are together right now because it suits us to be so. He is much grieved over losing his sister, and you know what I am grieved over. We are very close friends--that is the best description, I guess."  
  
"Very close friends who just happen to sleep together?" he asked dryly, refilling his own cup. I nodded, and took mine up once more.  
  
"And I'm grateful for it. As far as I've come, for a long time after the orcs, I wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to do that, allow myself to be touched in that way. The Captain was the one person I thought could help me, and the time was never right to ask him. Elrohir is probably the only other person who could have done it. In his way, he has done as much to heal me as his father has."  
  
Mablung studied me for a long moment, then gave an abrupt nod. "All right then. If you say he helps you, and does no harm, I'll keep my nose out of it and try to like him for your sake." I chuckled.  
  
"Yes, father!" He promptly turned beet red. "You needn't worry much in any event--he will be returning North with his father soon. I doubt I'll see him again for a long time, unless I too go North with my grandfather, as he wishes." A pang of sadness suddenly smote me at the prospect of Elrohir's absence.  
  
"Your grandfather?" Mablung interjected, surprised. "You've found some kin?"  
  
Grinning, I exclaimed, "We are behind the times, aren't we? You don't know about my family, and I certainly don't know anything about this young lady you are marrying! And after all the questioning you've just given me about my lover, you had better believe I want to know everything about yours!"  
  
We then exchanged information, me telling him about how I'd come to know Litharel, and he finally disclosing how he'd met the redoubtable Delyth upon a visit to her family's shop to collect some quivers for the Rangers. It was great fun to watch him talk about her--he was obviously smitten, and afraid of being ridiculed about it by his fellow Rangers. He was also terrified of the upcoming ceremony that loomed upon the horizon like a great dark cloud that he would have to pass through to reach the rainbow beyond, though there were certain aspects about it that pleased him.  
  
"Did you know that all the nobles have been petitioning the King to let them hold their marriages in the Court of the Tree? And he hasn't been letting them do it. But he told me that was where my wedding was being held, whether I liked it or not. And me just a mere captain!" He had by now finished off his half of the wine bottle, and was slightly flushed with it. I had but sipped my refilled goblet, but was feeling relaxed and happy nonetheless.  
  
"You are hardly a mere Captain, Mablung! You've been Faramir's right hand in Ithilien for years now, and you did all that wonderful fighting at the Black Gate, and that extremely clever ambush on the way there. The King is a Ranger paying respects to another really good Ranger." I pondered thoughtfully for a moment, then continued. "I think he also wants the Ithilien Rangers to stop confusing him with Sauron."  
  
Mablung chuckled. "He'll get his wish then--he's donating a couple of fine bullocks and a wagon-load of beer to the festivities!"  
  
"That will certainly do it!" I agreed, and we both laughed. The conversation meandered pleasantly after that until right before dinner time, when he bade me farewell, saying he was to take dinner with Delyth and her family that night.  
  
"Tonight is just the family, but two nights hence, they have asked me to bring some of my friends over. If you are well enough to come, would you?"  
  
"I would very much like to meet your lady! And Lord Elrond said that I would be feeling better by then. Shall I bring anything?" He shrugged.  
  
"You don't have to. You may if you like. I'll stop by here, and walk you over." Arrangements made, he had hugged me tightly, and departed, whistling, while I chuckled fondly about my smitten friend.  
  
My own supper that night was quiet. Felith came in after dinner to help me with a bath and washing my hair, and when she was done I found myself more than content to return to bed. Hoping that more of my energy would return on the morrow, I read for a time by the glow of the bedside lamp, then settled down to rest, pondering the mysteries of love and marriage, and feeling rather lonely because of the cold and empty space at my side. 


	47. The Betrothed

Author's Note--This chapter is for Arwen Lune, a long-time reader who had the same idea, and cared enough to write me about it.  
  
The saddler's shop smelled wonderful, but then I have always been a person who loves the scent of well-cured leather. Mablung and I arrived just as his betrothed was closing up the shop for the night, and I wandered over to admire a display of saddles for a moment, to give them a bit of privacy. Running my fingers gently over a saddle intricately carved with roses, I grinned as muffled sounds of affectionate greeting rose behind me. Eventually, footsteps drew near, and Mablung spoke, his voice a little gruff.  
  
"Heth, I'd like you to meet my betrothed." I turned.  
  
Delyth was young enough, as Faramir had said, but a young woman rather than a girl, with the tiniest of crinkles at the corners of her eyes from smiling. And she was pretty enough as well, with a freckled face, shortish nose and wide blue eyes. Not that much shorter than Mablung, she stood comfortably within the circle of his arm, smiled at me and stuck out her hand. Smiling, I clasped hers in turn.  
  
"Hethlin, this is Delyth, daughter of Deorwyn, my betrothed. Delyth, this is Hethlin daughter of Halaran, esquire to Prince Imrahil, former Ranger of Ithilien, and my very good friend."  
  
"I have heard much of you, Lady Hethlin," Delyth said. Her voice was low and husky, but pleasant.  
  
"I wish that I could say the same, mistress, but Mablung has been very close-mouthed about you." Mablung grimaced at me, and I relented. "Though in truth, I have been out of the City for some time, or I am sure that I would have heard your praises sung many times."  
  
"Perhaps you would have, perhaps not. You are right in saying that he has been close-mouthed," Delyth commented, "Though having seen how his men have carried on about this, I understand why! Come, supper is nearly ready. Follow me." I followed behind them to the back of the shop, observing the way Mablung's hand never left her waist with great amusement. There, we mounted some stairs to the upper story, where the family had its living quarters. They were a spacious set of rooms, and reflecting the saddlers' prosperity, very comfortably furnished. Some delicious smells were emanating from the kitchen.  
  
There I met Deorwyn, her father, her younger brothers Deoran, Danwyn and Danloth and her mother Elrith. Deoran, I discovered, had twenty-two years upon him, and was actively courting a lady of his own. Danwyn, the most quiet and thoughtful of the three, was eighteen. Danloth was barely sixteen. Unlike many native Gondorians, they had stayed in the City during the siege, and had the scars to prove it. Not formally war-trained, they had been part of the militia, and had helped with putting out fires, clearing the streets of fallen, burned buildings, carrying wounded to the Houses of Healing, and water to the warriors on the wall. Swords they had borne as well, even the youngest, in case the walls were breached, and the fighting came inside. Poor Danloth had weals upon the left side of his face and his left hand and arm from being too close when one of the fiery missiles the Enemy had shot over the wall landed near to him, and Master Deorwyn limped a bit from where a collapsing building had caught his foot under a rain of stone, and it had healed badly. The family were all typical Rohirrim--tall, blonde, and formidable looking, including the mother, and I cocked an eyebrow at Mablung.  
  
"However did you slip past this lot to get any courting done?"  
  
"Ranger stealth," Mablung answered matter-of-factly, and laughter rang about the room. I grinned, and moved to Elrith, to present her with my contribution to the evening, a net bag full of oranges.  
  
"Trust me, mistress, you would not care to eat anything I cooked, but I found these in the market and thought they would serve." Elrith smiled with pleasure, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that foretold how her daughter would look when she was older.  
  
"They will serve indeed! We shall have them for dessert! But you shouldn't have done this, lady--oranges are very dear! We usually only have them for feast days, when they are in season."  
  
"I have a friend who likes them, and he introduced me to them. I found them quite tasty and thought you would like them as well." The other half of the case, which I had bought for an exorbitant price after much haggling, was ensconced in the cooling cellar of the King's kitchens, packed in wood shavings, and labeled with my name and promises of doom to anyone who touched them. I had intimated to the fussy butler in the kitchens that if a single one of them were so much as breathed upon, I would summon an Eagle to deal with him personally. The merchant had assured me that they would remain fresh long enough for Elrohir to enjoy them when he returned from Ithilien, and I was looking forward to surprising him.  
  
Elrith carried her oranges back to her kitchen, which I knew better than to intrude upon. Returning to the parlor, I saw the youngest son, Danloth, look up alertly at a faint noise from the shop below.  
  
"I think your other friends are here, Captain," he told Mablung, and went downstairs to let them in. He returned shortly thereafter with Lorend, who came up the stairs slowly because of his leg, carrying a large cheese, and Anborn, his cheek long healed, and his arm about a petite, pretty woman with hair so black it almost looked blue. There was a bottle in his other hand.  
  
Much greeting ensued, and their contributions vanished into the kitchen as well. I regarded Anborn's companion curiously.  
  
"Who is your young lady, Anborn?" He smiled down at her, and she tipped her head up and smiled back at him. His answer was brief and to the point, as usual.  
  
"My wife, Melyanna."  
  
"You aren't married!"  
  
"Wasn't married," he corrected. "Am now."  
  
"But you didn't invite any of us!"  
  
"Nay. Melyanna is shy. Didn't want to scare her away. Besides," and here he gave Mablung a disgruntled look, "I don't need a traveling show to get the job done, like some people." Mablung harrumphed, and we all laughed. Lorend sidled over to Melyanna, regarding her with a certain degree of aesthetic appreciation. She in her turn regarded him with wary trepidation, an attitude I thought indicated a great deal of common sense on her part.  
  
"Allow me to commend you upon your recent nuptials, mistress," he purred in his most smarmy, pick-up-the-barmaid tone of voice. She shrank back against Anborn a little, and he gave Lorend a flat look.  
  
"Cease Lorend, or I'll break your other leg." Since the taciturn ranger had never made a threat he wasn't capable of carrying out, Lorend, quelled, retreated over to me. Anborn smiled down at his wife reassuringly, an expression I'd seldom seen on him, that turned his saturnine face into something almost handsome. She smiled meltingly back at him, and watching the two of them, I grinned. Somehow, some way, the lieutenant had found a woman who was even more reticent than himself.  
  
"Are you in for the wedding, Anborn?" I asked. He shook his head, and braced himself to converse.  
  
"Nay. The Captain"--it took me a moment to realize he was speaking of Damrod, old habits died hard--"minded the store, as it were, while I was settling matters with Melyanna. She doesn't like to be in crowds, so I said I'd bring her here tonight so we could meet Mablung's lady, and I'll go back out tomorrow so he can come in for the wedding." Melyanna looked somewhat saddened at this prospect, which garnered her another smile from her new husband. She had yet to say a word herself.  
  
"The meat is on the boards!" Elrith called out just then, and we turned to find her beckoning us into a dining room. There, the fruits of her labors were spread in fragrant profusion. She was a woman who knew how to cook, was used to cooking for four large men with large appetites and had obviously gone to a great effort to impress her new son-in-law's friends. There was meat, roasts and chickens indeed, but also many side dishes, and some absolutely beautiful bread. Watching the eager way in which her husband, sons, daughter, and my fellow Rangers sat down and began passing plates around, I realized that I'd been dining amongst the mighty too much of late, and had better lose those pretty manners I'd cultivated, if I were to get anything to eat at all.  
  
For a while, in fact, there was no dinner conversation whatsoever, other than requests to pass something. All present were deeply involved in filling first their plates, then their mouths, with the bounty laid before them. Only when the worst pangs of hunger had been laid to rest did the talk begin. And it began with me.  
  
"Mablung tells us that you went on a journey for the King recently, Lady Hethlin," Delyth remarked, "Can you speak of it, or is it a secret matter?"  
  
"Not secret any longer," I replied. "The Prince of Dol Amroth, the King's foster brothers and myself traveled to Lothlorien to escort the Lady Arwen to her marriage." Eyes widened all around the table. Good Gondorian citizens that they were now, Delyth's family were Rohirric, and still remembered the tradition of dread that lay over the Golden Wood. My Ranger friends were also rather surprised.  
  
"You entered that place, and emerged unscathed?" Master Deorwyn exclaimed. "You must be mighty indeed, shieldmaiden!" I laughed.  
  
"Might did not come into it, sir! We were guests, and treated very well indeed! Besides, if you wish to fear the Wood, consider that its Lord and Lady are in the City at this very moment, guests of the King. They are the Queen's grandparents." Delyth's family all stared at each other for a few moments, then her father laughed.  
  
"You make a valid point, lady! And since we are obviously all not bewitched--" he paused, and regarded Mablung thoughtfully, "or at least not bewitched very much, though an elvish enchantment could explain this Ranger I suddenly find in my family--I suppose there is not much to fear at that!" A laugh rose up then, though Anborn and Lorend looked to Mablung first to see if he were angered by the jest, which he was not.  
  
Mistress Elrith, obviously very curious, asked me, "Do the elves eat as we do? How did they feed you when you were among them?" I explained as best I could about the elven food I had eaten, including the leaf-cakes, which did not impress her as much as I thought they would.  
  
"Those sound rather like the cone-cakes I used to make when the children were smaller." Deoran, the oldest son, then mentioned rather plaintively that even large, grown children appreciated cone-cakes though they never received them anymore, which caused another round of laughter. I was glad to see that Mablung was joining himself to such a good-humored family.   
  
Other questions then followed, about their houses and customs, which I answered as best I could. Danwyn commented softly, "You seem to know a great deal about the Elder folk, lady. How do you find them?" I gave the question hard thought for a moment before I replied, for it was difficult to find words that conveyed what I felt.  
  
"Much of the time, it is as if you were talking to someone who is like anyone else. Then, just when you are forgetting what they are, they say something like 'My grandfather is a star' or 'I have walked the world since before there was a sun or a moon'. You look into their eyes, and it is like looking into a deep, deep, bottomless well, and you realize you are like a little, chirping insect next to them. It is hard to look into an elf's eyes for any length of time."  
  
"They are strange. They sleep with their eyes open. They can even sleep while walking the world, seemingly awake. They are annoying, for they do most everything well, and they hardly ever seem to get dirty. They are graceful, and melodious, and it is difficult sometimes to get straight answers out of them. A great many of them seem as if they are gone already, thought their bodies are still here. And they are wondrous! I am sad that they are departing our world, and that my children's children will probably never know about them, save for stories. Middle-earth will be a poorer, greyer place without them."  
  
"But they are going back to their home, and that is as it should be, surely?" asked Delyth quizzically. I shook my head.  
  
"Nay, this is their home. They were born here long before us, and they used to have these beautiful kingdoms and cities. Lord Glorfindel was speaking of them when we were almost to the City, and though it has been thousands of years since they fell, he made it sound as if it were yesterday to him." I did not think it wise to go into the story Elrohir had told me about Glorfindel and the Balrog. No need to terrify these people with tales of Elves who died and got better afterwards. "He made them sound so beautiful that I was sad that I never got a chance to see them." I paused then, realizing something suddenly. Remembering Lady Galadriel's words to the Prince at the Mirror, and his rather cryptic answer to me, I thought I could now make a good guess as to what he had asked to see. And I had to agree with her, that Imrahil had been wise to ask for a vision that had naught to do with him, that would not instill regret or doubt or worry, but was something that he could remember with pleasure to the end of his days.  
  
Looking up from my woolgathering, I found people regarding me with varying expressions of amazement.  
  
"Goodness, I am the only person talking here! I think we've had enough talk of Elves, in any event--why does someone not tell me what's been going on in the City since I've been away?" The conversation then turned, almost with relief it seemed, to the mundane goings on of Minas Tirith--the influx of new residents, Faramir's plans for renovating the City, and the outlandish appearance and customs of some of the foreign dignitaries who had arrived to treat with the King. I was able to take a break, and catch up on my eating, a task I engaged in with great pleasure. No one in Delyth's family seemed to take it amiss that I had a large appetite for a woman, which was comforting. I was not forced to contribute to the talk for a long while, until Master Deorwyn asked a question regarding his business.  
  
"Perhaps you can answer something for me, Lady Hethlin, as you are in the Prince's service."  
  
"I will if I can, sir."  
  
"As Mablung might have told you, we do the Prince's saddlery work for him, exclusively. A couple of days ago, he put in a rush order for a set of harness for a pair of heavy horse. Our finest work, he said. Which is not unusual, for the Prince never buys aught but the best. But he specifically said that the brightwork was not to have the Dol Amroth sigil, which is a good thing, since I order that specially and it would not have come in time in any event. And he told Delyth, who does the tooling, that the design did not matter, but that he wanted it ornamented, and she could do whatever pleased her best in that department."  
  
"There is a design that looks like basket weaving, and I put that upon it, for I have always liked how it looked," Delyth said, and Deoran spoke up.  
  
"Father wants to know what is going on, for it can't be for the Prince's carriage--he'd have his own sigils on it then, and besides, he puts fours and sixes to his carriages, and there would have been matching harnesses for the leaders and wheelers. You know how particular he is about the little things--he would never have his carriage horses in mismatched harness." I agreed that the Prince would never allow such a travesty, but declared myself baffled as well.  
  
"It is not that I am sticking my nose in where it's none of my business--," the saddler said, giving his son a reproving look for his interruption.  
  
"--Yes, it is, dear," interjected his wife placidly, and the Rangers chuckled. "The Prince's custom is always good, and that is all that need concern you."  
  
"--but I thought that if you knew something of the purpose it was intended for, it would better help me to please him." His endeavor to look virtuous fell a little flat, and his sons all rolled their eyes and groaned. I considered the evidence.  
  
"You said that it was a rush order, did you not? When did he wish it to be finished?"  
  
"He wanted it the day before the wedding. Said he wanted Delyth to do the tooling and paid handsomely for the extra trouble. Which he should, as she has had plenty of other things to do."  
  
"You said the harness was for heavy horses?"  
  
"Aye. Dray horses from the look of it. He has a couple of those, fine ones, that he puts to the carriage in heavy weather. But I can't fathom why he wants a set for a pair alone."  
  
"The Prince has not spoken to me of this at all, and I do not live with his household yet, so I have heard nothing," I admitted. "But perhaps....." I added slowly, thinking my way through it, "he is giving Prince Faramir a heavy team. Such horses would be very useful for hauling rubble away, and even pulling buildings down." The saddler's eyebrows went up.  
  
"I hadn't considered that! You might be right! Makes as much sense as anything!" The matter settled to his satisfaction, the conversation turned again, this time to doings in Ithilien. The Rangers held forth, or at least Lorend and Mablung did, while Delyth's family listened, and asked occasional questions. This was of interest to me as well, and I was listening contentedly when Delyth arose, and came around to my side of the table.  
  
"Mother?" she said. "There is something downstairs I would like to show Lady Hethlin. May I take a moment? We will be back in time for desert." Mistress Elrith nodded placidly.  
  
"If Lady Hethlin doesn't mind."  
  
I grinned. "A shop full of the finest saddles and bridles in Gondor? No, I don't mind!" The saddler chuckled, and Mablung gave his fiance a curious look. He got a bright smile thrown over her shoulder in return, as Delyth accompanied me down the stairs.  
  
Once back within the confines of the shop, the indistinct murmur of voices from upstairs could be heard, but specific words were indiscernible. Assuming the reverse was true as well, I gave Delyth a wry look.  
  
"I am going to need a bridle for a young horse soon, something that can be easily let out as she grows, but I suspect that you did not bring me down here to make a sale." She shook her head, and leaned back upon her elbows against the counter with a sigh, looking a bit uncomfortable.  
  
"Nay, I did not. I wish to know about you and Mablung; about what, if anything, has been between you. I need to know that before I go any further with this. He talks about you quite a lot, you see."  
  
"You're not considering breaking the betrothal, are you?" I asked in surprise.  
  
"That depends upon what you tell me here. I have no desire to be tending his land and his children while he frolics in the forest with you." I frowned.  
  
"This assumption people keep voicing, that I spent my entire time in Ithilien sleeping with the Rangers gets tiresome after a while, Mistress." She blushed, shame-faced.  
  
"I would imagine that it does. And we have shield maidens among our folk who do not do that sort of thing. But I would like to know if he can give me his heart wholly." I sighed. In truth, I had rather expected an interrogation of this sort at some point. But it would have been nice to have been wrong.  
  
"Very well then, Delyth. I swear by my House and by my father's sword that what I tell you now is the truth." Her eyes widened at the seriousness of the oath. "The Rangers found me when I was seventeen. They fished me out of the Anduin. A scouting party of orcs had killed my family. They spared me and took me along on their return trip for.....entertainment, if you know what I mean." She nodded soberly.  
  
"We heard of such things happening to our kin in the Eastfold."  
  
"Indeed. When the Rangers found me, I was nearly dead. Captain Faramir gave me into Mablung's keeping, for he was the one who did the majority of the leechwork among the Rangers. I will not lie to you--during the time in which he nursed me back to health, he did have his hands on me in places only a lover would ordinarily touch--the nature of my injuries made that necessary." She started to speak, but I cut her off with a sharp gesture.  
  
"But after I had healed, and those attentions were no longer necessary, he never touched me in that way again. Neither lip nor hand did he ever lay upon me in lechery. He taught me to be a good Ranger, and saved my life more than once. He has been like unto a brother to me, or even a father, and he is one of the three men in Gondor I respect most after the King. The other two are Princes. I consider him kin, and if you wed him, you may call upon me as such, you and the children you will have with him. And if you ever harm or dishonor him, you will answer to me! Does that satisfy you?" She regarded me gravely for a moment, then a smile lit her face, and rather to my surprise, she embraced me.  
  
"Aye, it more than satisfies, Lady Hethlin! Sorry I am if I made you cross with my question! Will you forgive me?" I narrowed my eyes at her.  
  
"Under one condition." At her quizzical look, I explained. "You had better make him happy!" She chuckled, a rather unique, gurgling sound.  
  
"I will try my best to do so!" And at that, we went back upstairs to eat dessert as friends--albeit new and tentative ones. Dessert was my oranges, Lorend's cheese, which turned out to be very fine indeed, and Elrith's tasty nut bread. After that, Delyth's brothers seemed eager to do a bit of gaming with the Rangers, and Melyanna seemed content to wordlessly admire Elrith's spinning and embroidery, but I pled the weariness of recent illness, thanked my host and hostess and returned to the Citadel. There, I dressed for bed, laid me down and spent some time reflecting upon how all of the Rangers of my acquaintance, like the Prince's Swan Knights, seemed to be set upon getting themselves married as swiftly as possible--with the exception of Lorend, of course. There was no doubt that both Mablung and Anborn were deeply attached to the women they had chosen. I liked Delyth very well, and could hardly find fault with Melyanna--I still didn't know anything about her!  
  
Not so long ago, I had wanted to cleave unto Faramir in that way--indeed, I still did, though I had repressed it so forcibly that it did not trouble me very often any more. And even wanting him as I had, there had been no clear idea on my part about what being married to someone really meant. Thinking back upon the uncomprehending observations of my mother and father I had made as a child, it seemed to the adult eye that they had shared everything that came to them, and were very much in love. And from what Prince Imrahil had said, he had enjoyed the same sort of special relationship with his wife as well. But I also knew that being bound forever to the wrong person would be the worst sort of torment, and that it did happen to people.  
  
Once I had told Prince Imrahil what I would have expected of the person that I loved. And I knew now that I expected marriage to be something more than a convenient material compact, or even an easy, friendly, comfortable relationship entered into because of mutual need. I wanted it all, despite the risks--I wanted the grand passion. I hadn't a clue as to how I was going to get it, but that was what I wanted. It was perhaps just as well that I was, as my grandfather had noted, rather young yet. 


	48. The Other Wedding

Author's Note: This chapter was a long time in development, and took a lot of hand-holding. Many thanks to Altariel, Sailing to Byzantium, and Elizabeth Wyeth for infinite patience and suggestions.  
  
The next morning, I woke and went in search of my back pay, for the oranges had exhausted the small fund of ready money I had. I went to the Steward's office, expecting to speak to his secretary about the matter, but much to my surprise, Faramir himself was there.  
  
"Good morning, Heth!" he said, pleased to see me.  
  
"Aren't you in Ithilien?" I asked him with a smile. He returned it happily enough.  
  
"I was, and I conferred with my surveyors. Then we met up with one of Damrod's patrols. They were tracking a possible orc incursion. The Elves decided to sally forth along with them on foot, and I had things to do here, so I brought their horses back with my guard, and left them at the courier post closest to the River."  
  
"You didn't want to go with them?" He shook his head.  
  
"That is Damrod's job now, and he's welcome to it." I blinked, rather surprised he could casually dismiss the captaincy he'd held for so long and done so well. Though he had told me once upon a time that he would gladly lay down his sword the earliest moment he could, the reality disconcerted me a bit. Faramir continued, his tone distinctly dry of a sudden. "And besides, your friend Elrohir wears on me after a while."  
  
"Oh dear, was he very difficult?"  
  
"No more than usual."  
  
"That bad?"  
  
"Oh yes."  
  
"I am sorry."  
  
"Nothing you should be sorry for, Heth." His slender fingers were flicking through a rather sizable pile of papers upon his desk, and from time to time he would select one and sign it, stamp it with the Steward's seal he kept upon his desk, and put it in another pile. "Why don't you sit here and keep me company for a bit? I'll send for tea, and you can tell me about Lorien. This is all routine, and I can sign papers and listen to you as well. The way things are going, it may be the only chance the two of us get to talk before the wedding."  
  
"I would like that," I replied, and he rang a bell for a servant, requesting tea, and after a grin at me, some honey cakes. I glowered, and he laughed.  
  
"Now don't frown! You must admit, you have a weakness where sweets are concerned! My brother got to the point where he had his man standing over his supplies with sword practically drawn when he visited, for he knew that if there were honey cakes in his pack, then Mablung would be stealing some for you!"  
  
"Well, after Mablung had gone to all that trouble for me, I could hardly refuse them, could I?" I retorted with mock indignation, and he laughed. He was certainly in a good mood, and it lifted my heart to see it, as well as to see him refer to his brother in a casual but loving way that indicated he was coming to terms with his loss.  
  
"So kind of you to be so considerate of Mablung's feelings! Not that your sweet tooth seems to have done you any harm," he commented. "You're looking very well. How are you feeling?"  
  
I ducked my head a bit at the compliment. He could still make me feel fluttery inside, and it took a moment to suppress it. "Better now. Still a bit tired every now and then. I don't have all my strength back, but Lord Elrond said it might take a week or more to feel myself again."  
  
"Was he able to help you?" The question was very quiet, and a bit hesitant, as if he were reluctant to pry into my personal business. I smiled.  
  
"He said that he was successful, and that I should be able to bear children now, though in truth, I don't feel any different." Faramir smiled back at me then, the smile that was more subdued than his uncle's but which engaged both eyes and mouth in much the same way.  
  
"That is very good news, Heth! I am glad for you."  
  
"As am I! Perhaps one day I will be able to marry after all. For a long time, I believed I never would." He considered this in silence for a moment, as he signed and stamped yet another paper.  
  
"And have you any candidates for husband in mind?" he asked at last, with more of that hesitance.  
  
"Besides yourself, you mean?" I inquired archly. He actually grinned again at that, and waggled a warning finger at me. I laughed. "Nay, no one in mind at present!"  
  
"From the way Lord Elrohir was speaking in Ithilien, I thought that you and he might be thinking of marriage."  
  
The look I gave him then mingled horror and trepidation. "WHAT did he say to you?" Faramir shrugged.  
  
"He was not indiscreet. There was no bragging within earshot of the others, nothing like that. " I considered that Faramir might be unaware of how truly keen Elven hearing could be. It was not a reassuring thought, that Lord Glorfindel or Prince Legolas might know the details of my romantic life. "But he did make the time to tell me privately that you had been with him since Lothlorien. Which was hardly a surprise, given how the two of you were acting at Amon Din." It was not a reproof, and his voice was quite mild, but I felt myself flushing with unjustified embarrassment nonetheless. "Hethlin, it is not my place to intrude into your personal business, but is involving yourself with Lord Elrohir wise?"  
  
My turn to shrug. "I have it on good authority that it is unwise. But he is my friend, and he taught me how to accept a man's touch, and he will not give me a child, even now, for the Elder Kindred do not conceive save within a marriage. We are harming no one, so I do not see that it is anyone's concern but ours. And just so you know, I have already had this talk with Mablung."  
  
He nodded, and took up another document. "That does not surprise me--Mablung looks upon you as a sister, or daughter. Does my uncle know about your....arrangement?"  
  
"He could hardly be unaware of it, could he? Elrohir and I talked to him about it." That confounded him for some reason, I could tell. He set the paper down slowly.  
  
"You did? What did he say?"  
  
"He said that as far as he was concerned, I was as any other of his men, and subject to the same rules. So long as our arrangement, as you put it, did not interfere with my training, he would not forbid it. He sees it as no different than one of his other esquires having a lass for a sweetheart."  
  
"How very.....understanding of him."  
  
"He is a very understanding man, and a good man to serve."   
  
"But have you no thought for your reputation, Heth?"  
  
"As I told Mablung, no one will believe that I am chaste no matter what I do--I discovered that during the King's wedding. And your uncle says that so long as he, the King and Queen and you approve of me, then nothing else matters." I gave him an inquiring look. "Are you saying then that you do not approve?"  
  
He looked uncomfortable. "I am concerned for you, that you do not suffer censure at court." I snorted.  
  
"I care naught about how I am regarded at court."  
  
At that moment, a servant walked in with a tea tray upon which was a plate piled high with honey cakes. Faramir laid his papers aside, looking grateful for the interruption, and used it as a opportunity to change the subject.  
  
"You have yet to tell me anything about Lorien."  
  
"Surely, with all the time you've spent around the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, and the Queen and her brothers, you don't need the likes of me to describe Lorien!"  
  
"I would know how you found it."  
  
So as we sipped and chewed companionably, I told him about the flets, the mallorns, the lanterns, the elves, and anything else I could think of without directly referring to his uncle's indisposition. From the occasional raised eyebrow, I knew he had an idea that I was omitting things, but he was polite, and did not press the matter. He did seem most interested in my observations about the Elves, and talked a little in turn about Lord Legolas' intention to move south into Ithilien with some of his kindred.  
  
"That is wonderful, Faramir! Elves within sight of Minas Tirith! I can see why they would like Ithilien." Perhaps, I thought hopefully, the King was wrong, and the Elves would stay upon Middle-earth for some time to come.  
  
"Legolas says that they can help heal the damages the orcs have left. I am looking forward to having them as neighbors."  
  
"Not to mention Mablung. His land is fairly close by, is it not?"  
  
"Yes, close by the river. Right next to yours. Which you haven't even had a chance to see yet."  
  
"I know. And the way things are going, I don't know when I'll get the chance. Are Mablung and Delyth going to go ahead and build a house and set up their farmstead right away?"  
  
Faramir's expression became slightly smug. "Well, someone is going to build them a house." I looked at him and whistled in admiration.  
  
"That is a princely gift indeed!"  
  
"In a lot of ways, Heth, I owe Mablung even more than you do. What are you going to get them--if you don't mind my asking?"  
  
"I don't know! I've been puzzling over that very thing for days now!" He reached into his middle desk drawer, and pulled out a small suede bag that chinked as it moved. It was heavy and lay pleasantly in my hand after he deposited it there.  
  
"Your back pay. Perhaps that will help." A slightly devilish gleam came into his eye. "You know, you could always ask Cousin Thiri to advise you. She loves to shop."  
  
I groaned. "Somehow, I don't think she understands how to shop for farmers! Can you see Delyth hoeing vegetables in a brocade gown?" He snorted, amused. "In truth, I do have an idea about what to get, I just don't know how to go about it."  
  
"And what would that be?"  
  
"If I were starting a new farm, I would want a good milk cow. But I don't know where to find one, and how or where I would keep it while Mablung was getting his farm built. And I couldn't take it to the wedding with a bow around its neck--it would probably try to eat the White Tree or something." I glanced at Faramir, to see if he were going to laugh at me, but he just looked thoughtful.  
  
"You know, you might want to talk to Lorend about that. His mother keeps cows, and makes cheeses."  
  
"Does she? I thought his people were merchants."  
  
"His father is. His mother is a cheesemaker. Do you remember those really nice cheeses he always brought us for Yule? His mother makes those."  
  
"He brought a cheese with him to dinner last night as well. It was very good--Delyth's parents liked it."  
  
"Ah yes, the dinner. How did that go?" His voice was the tiniest bit wistful, I thought.  
  
"It was a very nice evening, and Mablung should have invited you! Of all the people to leave out....." I was rather indignant on his behalf, but he merely cradled his teacup in his hands, and stared thoughtfully down into it.  
  
"Of course he invited me, Heth. I declined."  
  
"But why?"  
  
"Because, while Mablung's Captain would have been a welcome guest, having the Steward of Gondor show up to dine in their house would have probably scared those poor people half to death! What to feed him? Is it good enough? Quick, give him the best chair! Be careful what you say, you don't want to offend him! The evening would have become all about me, and that was not what I wanted for him."  
  
"I don't know about that--they seemed pretty stout-hearted to me. They do a lot of work for your uncle, and I imagine they could have handled it if he showed up for dinner."  
  
Faramir made a face. "Yes, but that's Uncle--he changes his plumage to fit the circumstances in a heartbeat, and moves up and down the social ladder with perfect ease. You do too, for that matter, and I don't think you even know you're doing it. I am not so easy with people."  
  
My jaw dropped. "Faramir, whatever are you talking about? All of your men love you, as you well know!"  
  
"Yes, but the Rangers were not so enthused about me in the beginning! They thought I was an insufferable, stuck-up brat, in fact! It took years to build that relationship, Heth."  
  
"That is as may be, but I think you underestimate your ability to inspire affection. The people of the City love you as well. I hear it said that they have no qualms about walking right up to you and speaking to you of their concerns. They would not have dared so with your father."  
  
"They do in fact do that," he responded thoughtfully after a moment's consideration. "Perhaps I should have gone."  
  
"Aye, you should have! You could have met Anborn's wife." He looked up with interest, eyebrow quirked.  
  
"Anborn's gone and gotten married? What is she like?"  
  
"The Valar only know! Never said a word the whole evening!" A glint of humor showed suddenly in his eyes.  
  
"Truly?"  
  
"Truly!" And thus prompted, I proceeded to give him an account of the whole dinner, which amused him mightily. He forgot about his work, and just leaned back in his chair, listening to me and laughing softly from time to time. When I had done speaking, he smiled and shook his head.  
  
"You are right, Heth. I should have gone."  
  
"Aye, you should have. Don't let this Steward business shut you away from people you care about, Faramir--you'll help neither your work nor yourself."  
  
"Very well, oh Mistress of Wisdom! Who still seems bent on protecting me from myself, thankless job though it is!" He chuckled at my discomfiture, and sat up suddenly, his manner turning brisk once more.  
  
"As I told you earlier, if you really want to gift Mablung with a cow, seek Lorend out and have him ride to Lossarnach to talk to his mother--their farm is not very far from the City. If she agrees to sell you one, you should be able to buy the animal, and arrange to have it boarded there till Mablung and Delyth need it. Just give them the contract at the wedding--that's what I'm doing about their house. Thus will the paving stones of the Citadel be saved from possible defilement, and the White Tree preserved. I'll see that he has a courier horse to make the trip, if you can persuade him to do it. And if you cannot, then tell him I want to see him." The Captain look was in his eyes, the one that promised heads would roll if his commands were not carried out, and I grinned to see it.  
  
"Thank you, my lord--you've solved my problem and spared me from the horror of hours and hours of shopping!" Faramir leaned back in his chair once again, a pleased expression on his face.  
  
"Glad I am to have been of help, Heth."  
  
At that moment, a knock sounded at the door, and Faramir's secretary stuck his head into the room.  
  
"My lord, Lord Menevril is here. Your were going to go over the accounts with him? Faramir looked at me apologetically, and I got up immediately.  
  
"I've taken up enough of your time this morning."   
  
He leaned forward towards me and murmured conspiratorially, "I wish I could spare you a bit more--Menevril always sends me to sleep."  
  
"You could still be in Ithilien, tracking and fighting orcs! With Elrohir!"  
  
"Well, when you put it that way......" I sketched him a bow, and departed.  
  
**********************************  
  
As matters turned out, I was able to locate Lorend with very little trouble. I routed him, hungover, out of bed in the house of one of his father's aunts in the fourth circle. She, a genteel widow lady of some means, had no idea what sort of person was staying under her roof, but was merely grateful to have a man in the house to protect her. She believed that his irregular hours were due to difficulties in recovering from his war wound, a belief he was careful to reinforce at regular intervals, and quite doted upon him, a habit he also encouraged.  
  
Lorend informed me privately that his aunt was well-provided for, and had no children, so he was just looking after his own interests. He was less enthused about seeing to mine, since it meant a trip to Lossarnach to purchase the cow for me, but the threat of Faramir's displeasure motivated him to travel in the end. To give him credit, he took a goodly amount of my back pay, but when he returned the morning of the wedding, he had a contract for not one, but two cows, and had arranged for their board for several months. I had been somewhat concerned that he might be annoyed with me for taking for myself the idea for a gift that could have come from him, but I needn't have worried.  
  
"It looks better if you give them to him--from me, it looks like the easy way out," he explained. "Besides, I loathe cattle from life-long exposure to them and already have a present for the bridal couple. It is one they'll use right away, the very first night." When I inquired, intrigued, as to what it might be, Lorend shrugged.  
  
"I suppose it's safe enough to show you--Aunt Laira has gone to a friend's house." Whereupon he went upstairs to his room, and returned bearing a nicely bound book.  
  
A bit surprised that Lorend was showing a literary bent at this late date, I opened the book to look through it--and proceeded to get my education in certain matters broadened almost immediately. Flipping through a few pages at random, I encountered illustrations of some things Elrohir had taught me, and a few that looked impossible to execute even with Elven flexibility. There were also explicit instructions to go with the pictures. I blushed red to my very ears and Lorend, watching me, grinned.  
  
"Whatever is this thing?" I exclaimed. "You don't truly intend to give it to Mablung, do you?"  
  
"It's called The Garden of Love, and it is a very famous Haradrim manual about......well, I'm sure you know what it's about. And yes, I intend to give it to him. Delyth will thank me for it, don't you think?" Recovering myself, and not wanting to reveal how much the book had shocked me, I commented in a casual tone that I could see where it might come in handy.  
  
"In fact, you ought to have purchased a copy for Anborn as well. Then he and his wife would never have needed to speak of such things. He could have just pointed to a page."  
  
That idea apparently appealed to Lorend's twisted sense of humor. I thanked him for his trouble on my behalf and left him still chortling over my remark, and murmuring to himself things like, "Tonight, page twenty-seven if you please, my sweet.".  
  
Personally, I thought Mablung would take one look at that book, weigh the offense against the trouble of finding another lieutenant, and cut Lorend down where he stood. But that was not my problem.  
  
*********************************  
  
After lunch, I rode forth again with my grandfather, and spent a pleasant afternoon in his company. The next day was a quiet one. I went to see my horses in the Dol Amroth stables, and arranged to have the filly shod with light shoes to protect her feet while she was forced to tread the stones of Minas Tirith. While there, I was also measured for my uniforms and boots, and the dress that Lady Tirathiel insisted be made that I might practice courtly graces. That same afternoon, I ran into Damrod down in the fifth circle with some of his men, and we all went out to dinner together and told Ranger tales till quite late. I returned to my rooms to find that Elrohir had still not returned from Ithilien, and spent another disappointed night alone.  
  
The day of Mablung's wedding dawned beautifully, with a clear vault of sky through which small fluffy clouds scudded. The wind was from the North, and cooled the City, and the air was fresh and crisp, yet not too cool. People went about their business in the streets cheerfully, and as the morning progressed, delicious odors began to waft across the courtyard, for the King's cooks were roasting the bullocks in huge ovens in the kitchen, and the doors were open.  
  
I went out shopping early, and bargained for a nice little leather wallet with an attractive leaf design, to put the cow contract in. A stop at a barber's to trim my hair was accomplished, and another to the fuller to pick up my old Ranger cloak. I looked in upon Lord Celeborn at the potter's to find him busy throwing intricately whorled vases with the greatest of ease, while the potter looked on in stunned amazement. Pilara was napping on a blanket on the floor close to his chair, a rag doll clutched in her arms. Her mother informed me quietly that the little girl would not leave the elf-lord's side. The obsession had given the woman the first bit of peace she'd known since the obstreperous child was born, and she looked more rested than I'd ever seen her. I departed with the knowledge that at least one thing I'd accomplished since coming to Minas Tirith was working out well, though at this point there was the question of who was actually teaching who......  
  
The ceremony was to take place in the early evening, and by the time I'd done my errands, it was near the hour to start getting ready. So I stopped by Elrohir's rooms, found that he and his brother were apparently still on the hunt, then returned to my rooms to prepare. Donning the green elven outfit and boots, my Haradrim necklace and my sword, I threw the Ranger cloak over my shoulder despite the warmth of the day, for on this one night, I was determined to be a Ranger of Ithilien again.  
  
I came down to find the Courtyard of the Tree transformed, with tables all about the perimeter that were being laden with food of all sorts, and strings of lanterns. There were a couple of huge barrels of beer upon wagons in the corner, and another couple of tables off to the side were already laden with gifts. It was beginning to fill with what Lady Jerulas would definitely have described as men of the lower social orders, men who, one and all, whatever color of finery they were wearing, wore shabby brown and green cloaks thrown over their shoulders like proud badges of honor as I did. Men who had brought their sweethearts, their wives and in some instances, their children. Any courtiers who dared venture into the courtyard took one look for the most part and fled in terror.  
  
I greeted, and was greeted by, comrades I hadn't seen since the retreat, and was so engrossed in that pastime that when I finally looked up, the sun was sinking into the West, the sky to the East was deepening to cobalt, and an uproar from the Rangers announced that Faramir had arrived.  
  
He was clad in his beautiful green and black court garments and a blindingly white shirt. The gemmed circlet of Ithilien was set precisely upon his head, and there were no errant wisps in evidence. He was beautiful and perfect, and I was filled with love for him all over again, for over his finery he too wore his tatty Ranger cloak!  
  
He greeted a few eager men, then raised a hand. Silence fell.  
  
"The wedding party is on their way," he announced, "So if you will all assemble before the Tree, we can begin." Despite what he had said days earlier, he did not seem nervous in the least.  
  
Much more swiftly and featly than when the King had commanded them at court, the Rangers formed up, leaving a aisle-like space between two throngs that led to the White Tree. Faramir took his place before it, and things quieted. Murmuring announced the arrival of the bridal party. I was towards the front, and looked back to watch as Mablung and Delyth and their families arrived.  
  
Mablung was wearing the green and brown stag-embroidered ensemble he had worn at court before, with his Ranger cloak over all. Delyth was lovely in a flowing white gown, girdled with a belt of stag plaques, and wore her incredible hair hanging loose, garlanded with summer flowers. Mablung kept giving her stunned, sidelong glances as if he could not believe his good fortune. Their families came in with them, and I finally saw all of Mablung's formidable sisters in once place. The family resemblance was strong, which was perhaps unfortunate--Mablung's features definitely looked better on a man. Between his sisters, and Delyth's brothers and parents, there was quite a throng assembled before Faramir.   
  
Mablung's oldest sister and Delyth's father gave them to each other, as Faramir spoke the words. Though it was the first time he'd done it, there was no hesitation in him at all, and in fact he was smiling, obviously enjoying the opportunity to provide this joyous service for his friend. Attending my second wedding in a little over a week, I was taken with how brief the ceremony truly was in light of the affect it had upon two peoples' lives. There was utter silence as Mablung and Delyth exchanged their rings and their vows, but when Faramir pronounced them wed, a roar went up that near rattled the windows of the Tower of Ecthelion. Musicians who had arrived while the ceremony was going on struck up a merry tune, and many of the Rangers surged forward to congratulate the married couple, while others strolled towards the food tables, to get the best pickings there first.  
  
I went forward with the rush to the newlyweds, and situated as I had been, was one of the first to greet them.  
  
"I wish you both every happiness," I said as I embraced first Mablung, then Delyth.  
  
"Thank you, Heth," he murmured, followed by Delyth's somewhat breathless assent. Her cheeks were flushed and a hectic look was in her eye--prone a bit towards panic after the crisis was Delyth, I deemed. Which was, of course, far better than panic during one. As for Mablung, he was almost quivering in relief, having survived an ordeal he had been dreading. I then renewed my acquaintance with Delyth's family, and was introduced to Mablung's sisters, who subjected me to intense scrutiny, one after the other. I thought I finally understood why Mablung had chosen the army as a career, and why he had hardly ever gone home on leave.  
  
Faramir, who had congratulated them first, turned to me and gave me a hug.  
  
"So-did I do it right, Heth?" I returned his embrace with pleasure.  
  
"I thought you did every bit as well as Mithrandir did the other day."  
  
"Ah, but you are prejudiced in favor of Rangers, so I can hardly rely upon you for an objective opinion!" A final squeeze and he released me to speak to Damrod. I grinned and moved to greet another of my old companions as well.  
  
The bride and groom and their families were seated at a table clad in fine white linen and set near the Tree, and food was brought to them, but the rest of us either circulated, eating while standing, or perched upon chairs and benches which had also been set about the edges of the courtyard. Part of the courtyard had been roped off as a dance floor, and already some of the younger folk were cavorting to the sprightly music. I noticed a couple of child-sized figures who were not children over by the food table, being handed laden plates by the Rangers, and grinned. Apparently, the wedding feast had proven too strong a temptation for at least two of the hobbits, Merry and Pippin from the looks of it, as they were the tallest of the four.  
  
The sun had gone below the horizon, and stars were beginning to appear when there was a commotion at the gate. The sentries were reprimanding someone, but were apparently forced to give way because the next thing I knew, a wagon was being driven into the courtyard. It was a farm wagon, drawn by a pair of beautiful matched black draught horses, shaggy of fetlock and heavy of mane, and full of people clad in blue and silver garments. The horses had blue and white ribbons and flowers braided into their manes, and the driver, I suddenly realized, was Prince Imrahil. He was wearing one of those sleeveless brocaded jerkins the hobbits had made popular in the City, and a white silk shirt with his breeches and boots, and his voice was jovial as it rang out over the noise of the crowd.  
  
"Captain Mablung, Mistress Delyth! If the denizens of Dol Amroth bring you a gift, may we come to your wedding celebration?" Mablung and his lady stood up, surprise writ large upon their faces.  
  
"My lord prince," he called back, "You are welcome in any event, gift or no! But if you feel you must, there is a table for such things over there--" and he indicated the gift table.   
  
Imrahil grinned his most roguish grin, and with a sweeping gesture of his hand, indicated the wagon and team. "I don't think it will fit upon the table, Captain Mablung!" His passengers were jumping down from the wagon--all three of his sons, Master Andrahar and the Princesses Lothiriel and Mariel. The ladies were wearing wreaths of flowers not unlike those being sported by the Rangers' wives and sweethearts. They all mingled with the crowd, save for Andrahar, who stayed by his lord, and Amrothos, who jumped off last, gathered a rather large and unwieldy bundle under his arm, and almost scampered off in the direction of the Tower of Ecthelion.  
  
Delyth caught the Prince's meaning before Mablung did, grabbed her new husband's arm, and jumped up and down in place a couple of times before dragging him out from behind the table towards the wagon.  
  
"Oh Mablung, look, he's given us horses, look at them!" She was almost to the wagon when she halted, her eyes wide with realization. "That's the harness you commissioned, your Highness!" Imrahil, handing the reins to an esquire who had appeared, as usual, from out of thin air, swung down from the wagon, and strolled over to the new couple.  
  
"Well, I knew you wouldn't be happy with someone else's work, so I had you do whatever you would have most liked for yourself," he explained casually. "The wagon is yours also, of course--I thought it might come in handy. The team are brother and sister, gelding and mare, and the mare will foal next spring, so use her brother for the heavier tasks." Delyth smoothed a glistening black neck for a moment, cast an appraising eye over the wagon--then suddenly turned, threw her arms about the Prince and gave him a resounding kiss on the cheek. The Rangers roared with laughter, and the Prince smiled, giving her a paternal pat upon the shoulder in return. Fortunately, she remembered herself and came to her senses before lack of air became an issue for him.  
  
Mablung, equally moved but less impetuous, announced his and Delyth's thanks to the Prince aloud so everyone could hear, then clasped arms with him. Imrahil bent his head close to Mablung's ear and murmured something which made my friend smile. Then he looked up and around, at the folk who were gathered about the wagon, murmuring in admiration at it and the horses.  
  
"I could have sworn that the King said something in Council about the difficulty of finding enough beer to quench the thirst of the Ithilien Rangers, but I would see evidence of the futile attempt." There was another burst of laughter from the Rangers, and several people offered to guide him over to the beer barrels. He set off in that direction with Master Andrahar at his side. I hurried over to join him about the same time Faramir did.  
  
"Well, Uncle," he was saying, "you've certainly made everyone else's gifts seem a bit inadequate." The Prince smiled unrepentantly.  
  
""Tis not my fault if you do not know how to make an entrance, nephew! Hello, Hethlin," he greeted me. "You look very well this evening." I bobbed my head, the best I could do while in motion.  
  
"Thank you, my lord. As do you. Is that not the latest fashion?"  
  
"Indeed it is. Courtesy of Lothiriel, of course." I bowed my head in turn to Master Andrahar.  
  
"Good evening to you as well, Master Andrahar." The Prince's Armsmaster gave me a momentary, chilly look, then an almost infinitesimal nod. Figuring that was as good as I was likely to get from him, I did not press the matter further.  
  
We all of us found tankards of beer, even Andrahar, and sat back and watched the fun for a while. Mablung and Delyth went over to their table of gifts eventually, and exclaimed over them. When they found the parchment that announced that Faramir was building a house for them, their reaction was everything he could have wished for, and more--I thought for a moment that Mablung might actually break down in tears. Instead, he announced the generous gift at the top of his voice, and the Rangers all cheered their former Captain, and raised a toast to him.   
  
It was then that we found out what Amrothos had been up to in the Tower of Ecthelion. There was a loud bang, and a flower of golden light blossomed against the darkening sky above the Tower. It was followed by more explosions and more blossoms of vari-colored fire--blue, green, red, silver and purple. After the first momentary start of fright, I watched enraptured. I'd never seen fireworks before, but I knew what they were. The hobbits obviously did as well, shouting exclamations of pleasure. I heard Mithrandir's name mentioned, and wondered if they thought he'd done some wizardry.  
  
Faramir and Imrahil exchanged meaningful looks. "Did you know that 'Rothos was going to do that?" Faramir asked.  
  
"Well, he left the house with this huge parcel, and asked me where the tinderbox was, but no, I never thought anything about it," the Prince answered blandly. Faramir stared at his uncle in disbelief for a moment, then shook his head sadly. After a moment, Imrahil chuckled, and took a drink of his beer.  
  
When the fireworks were over, the dancing resumed, and as it was the sort of dancing I understood, and the company was one in which I felt comfortable, I quite indulged myself, dancing with Faramir, the Prince, Delyth's father, Mablung, Damrod, Anborn, and even Lorend, who had survived the discovery of his wedding present, though Mablung blanched and hid it swiftly away. I was not entirely certain, but I thought I might have seen Mablung's sisters with it later, all in a cluster and laughing amongst themselves.  
  
I danced, it seemed, with practically every Ranger there, and Prince Erchirion to boot, and quenched my thirst between dances with draughts of beer. I wasn't drunk, but I was certainly not sober either. There were definitely others who were worse off. Damrod's rangers were passing around some bottles of an evil concoction they'd somehow brewed out in the woods. I saw the Prince sample it at least once, and shudder fastidiously. Barathen, from the Cair Andros garrison, who had kept our courier horses for us, wanted to dance with me eventually, and he was much the worse for wear from imbibing it.  
  
"I don't know if that would be a good idea," I told him. "Even if you used to be stationed on the River, I'm not sure you're safe to navigate!" There was much laughter, and he promptly became the subject of much mockery from the Rangers, who claimed superior consumptive capacity over the regular army. This made Barathen only that much more determined to prove them wrong, and in the interests of preventing a brawl, I finally agreed to dance with him.  
  
That it was a mistake soon became apparent, though I managed to avoid having my feet trod upon, and did what I could to avoid collisions with the other couples. But eventually we came to a point in the dance where the gentlemen spun their partners about, and there my luck ran out. He twirled me with rather more vigour than was necessary, and his hands slipped on mine at the height of the spin. I went flying out of the dance, trying to catch my balance, and my foot hit a wet spot upon the pavement where someone had spilled some ale. Windmilling backwards, I careened into one of the spectators, who grunted and staggered backwards himself, but caught me about the chest and somehow managed to keep both of us from hitting the hard stone flags of the courtyard.  
  
My head was whirling from all the spinning and the drink, and it took me a moment to collect myself. There was laughter and jesting from the surrounding crowd, and I could feel the laughter vibrating from my rescuer. Barathen was apparently being escorted off to the side before he could harm himself or others further, to the accompaniment of much mockery. I looked down and saw that the warm arms about me were not clad in linen or leather or wool, but in silk. Turning around carefully within them, for they did not seem inclined to release me, I found myself nose to nose with my liege lord, who was by now near shaking with the force of his laughter, his eyes merry as they met mine.  
  
"Are you all right, my lord?" I asked concernedly.  
  
"I had the wind driven out of me, that's all," came his chuckled reply. "How about you?"  
  
"I am uninjured, sir." I became aware suddenly that in turning about, I was pressed close to him, chests and hips together, and that.....evidence.....was in evidence. I started to turn red, and the redder I got, the more he laughed. But though he loosened his grip somewhat, letting his arms drape negligently about my hips, he still did not let me go.  
  
"I claim a forfeit, my lady Hethlin, for saving you from the perils of your dancing partner!" he declared, the same light of manic hilarity in his eyes that I'd seen on the journey to Lorien, the night he'd told the bedtime story. I suspected that he might be more than a little intoxicated. The folk nearest us took up his demand, then it spread, until cries of "A forfeit! A forfeit!" were ringing through the Court of the Fountain.  
  
"A forfeit?" I asked warily, torn between a peculiar blend of curiosity and trepidation. "What sort of forfeit?"  
  
"Oh, the usual sort," he responded airily, and to my very great astonishment, tightened his arms about me once more and bent his head and kissed me. A roar of approval went up from the wedding guests.  
  
It was not the genteel press of lips he had given me at the King's wedding dance. That had been a Prince's kiss, chaste and polite. This was a pirate's kiss, declaring intent to plunder, searing enough to melt my bones. Once again, there was a taste of wine upon his lips, which were firm and warm. His hand splayed across the small of my back, holding me snugly against him. I should have felt trapped, but I did not--this was Imrahil, whom I trusted would never hurt me. I tensed for a moment, then relaxed against him. Without my telling it to, my mouth opened further, letting him do whatever he wished, and he made a sound deep in his throat. The kiss deepened. His other hand was tangled in my hair, holding my head still, his lips never leaving mine. The dizziness I had felt earlier returned, this time probably from lack of air, and I surrendered to it, sagging against him, feeling my knees buckle. My hands clutched weakly at his brocaded shoulders. Kissing, I thought somewhat hazily, needed to be added to the ever-increasing list of things that the Prince did well. Very well indeed.  
  
Whoops and laughter and calls of encouragement rose from the crowd surrounding us. "That's the way to do it, your Highness!" "Make sure you give 'im as good as you get, Heth!" "So THAT'S a Dol Amroth forfeit!" and other such jolly commentary came to our ears. Then I heard Faramir's voice somewhere close to us, a hint of disapproval in his questioning "Uncle?".  
  
His inquiry was like a bucket of cold water thrown over us. Imrahil stiffened against me, and broke off the kiss, his face still close to mine. I watched appalled awareness of our situation dawn in his eyes, and embarrassment, and strangely enough, felt badly for falling against him and putting him in this position. His chest was heaving, fast and shallow against mine, his utter dismay palpable. "Forfeit claimed, my lady," he murmured after a moment, his voice shaken as I had never heard it before, and his arms fell away from me, releasing me. Our audience began to applaud, cheering lustily. I stepped back from him, a bit wobbly in the legs, and smoothed a hand through my mussed-up hair. My liege lord began to tidy himself as well, eyes cast down, not looking at me. He took a long, deep, shuddering breath, then another and finally a third, and over the course of those three breaths, I saw all the humor and passion and laughter and wild joy in him leach away, transmuting into princely reserve. It was actually a rather horrible thing to witness, and I had a sense from the swiftness with which he accomplished it that it had been done many times before over the years. I blinked, fighting a sudden weird urge to weep.  
  
Looking about, my cheeks still pink, I found some people still watching us, but most of the others had turned already to other conversations and pursuits. A little way away, however, Prince Elphir, Princess Mariel, Prince Erchirion and Princess Lothiriel all regarded us with looks of puzzlement. As for Faramir, he watched us with the worry line prominent between his brows.  
  
"I cannot apologize enough, Hethlin," the Prince said to me softly, his voice steadier now, continuing to set himself to rights. Somehow he seemed much more sober than he had been but moments before, though that might have been dissembling. "I fear that I was overcome by that rotgut the Rangers were serving out, and the festive air of the proceedings."  
  
"That's quite all right, sir. No harm done," I assured him, though I was rather confused about what had just happened, and all the conflicting feelings coursing through me. "I should have warned you about that stuff. Strong enough to etch armor it is, I'll warrant. And mixing it with beer, as you did--not a good idea."  
  
  
  
The Prince's answering smile was self-deprecating. "A poor enough excuse for the actions of a drunken fool. And the sort of thing that you, of all people, should not have to put up with."  
  
"It was not so horrible as all that, my lord!" In fact, it would have been more truthful to say that it had not been horrible at all, but I did not know if he would appreciate that. I wasn't sure what he would appreciate at this point, other than perhaps a return to our normal relationship, or barring that, a swift escape. "You kiss very well," I observed, smiling at him and hoping to lighten his mood, but he shook his head grimly.  
  
"You are kind to say so, but it is obvious that it is long past time for me to leave the party. I will just say good night to the bride and groom, and take myself home. A good night to you as well, child." I bowed, he nodded, and turned to walk away. Faramir started to follow him, but was forestalled by an upraised hand.  
  
"Don't hover, lad. Andra will see me home. Where I will be all day tomorrow, if you wish to speak to me." We watched him go, Master Andrahar falling in behind him like his very shadow, then Faramir turned to me.  
  
"Let's take a walk, shall we, Heth? If you are able." I glowered at him.  
  
"I'm not drunk, Faramir, I just got a little dizzy from being thrown all over the place by Barathen."  
  
"Of course," he agreed. "Shall we?" He gestured in the direction of the stairs to the ramparts, and I fell in beside him. "Are you certain that you are all right?" he asked solicitously as we reached the foot of the stairs.  
  
"Of course. It was just your uncle, and he was simply jesting. A bawdy jest, it is true, but then there have been plenty of those this evening. He was only getting into the spirit of things." Faramir glanced sideways at me as we started to ascend.  
  
"In the seventeen years since Aunt Nimrien died, I have never known my uncle to do more than kiss a lady's hand, in jest or otherwise. I certainly have never seen him kiss anyone as he kissed you just now. Whatever has come over him? And exactly what happened on the trip to Lorien?"  
  
I was making my way carefully up the stairs, being certain to keep my hand on the wall, and well away from the edge, for despite what I'd told Faramir, I knew that I was a little unsteady. "As for what has come over him--I don't know that anything has. He has said more than once that he was a very wild young man. It stands to reason that it would not be that hard for him to remember how to be so again." I frowned as I realized something suddenly. "Though in truth, I may be somewhat responsible for this. While we were traveling, I got very tired of him talking about what an old man he was, and how he was past that sort of thing-- kissing and what comes after. I told him more than once that he needed to stop talking like that and to go celebrate our victory and have a good time. So perhaps I gave him the idea."  
  
"I had no idea you had such influence over my uncle," Faramir commented dryly. "I am impressed." He did not sound impressed, or even particularly pleased.  
  
"I did not mean it in that way!" I protested. "But we talked often about a great many things. He is very easy to talk to."  
  
"I have always found him to be so," Faramir agreed. We reached the top of the stairs, stepped onto the ramparts, and he turned and fastened his most intent commander's stare upon me. "How badly was he hurt, Hethlin? Did the elves do something to him while he was there? He has been acting....oddly... ever since he returned."  
  
Faramir in full Captain mode I had always found intimidating, and I had never before been able to hold anything back from him. But somewhere in the last few months, on the Pelennor or in Lorien or at Min-Rimmon, I had found new fortitude. Meeting his gaze squarely, I replied, "I cannot discuss his condition with you, Faramir. He has forbidden me to speak of it, even to his family. And as his esquire, I must obey. I suggest you apply to him for the details. But I will say that the elves did not do anything 'strange' to him that I could see. They were very kind and helpful."  
  
He strolled over to one of the merlons, and leaned back against it. "What if I were to command you, as the Steward of Gondor, to tell me?" His voice was calm, but that undertone of authority was in it, the one that said he wouldn't take no for an answer. I grimaced, walked over to the crennelations, looked out over the City for a moment, then turned to face him.  
  
"Then I would say that I hope you have renovated Lord Hurin's holding cells while you've been repairing the City." His mouth twitched, and he relented.  
  
"Very well, Heth, I shall not press you further upon the matter! And I do appreciate your loyalty to my uncle. I know well the worth of it." I nodded, and we were both silent for a moment. Then he continued, his voice concerned, "Provided it is simply loyalty."  
  
"What exactly do you mean by that?" I asked a bit sharply. He made an graceful, indeterminate gesture.  
  
"Simply that I have asked what the Elves did to him in Lorien, but not what you did."  
  
"I 'did' nothing to him in Lorien, other than learn to play chess and have some interesting talks!" I protested, offended. "Why would you think that anything untoward happened? You give neither of us any credit if you think that."  
  
Faramir frowned. Time there was when that frown would have devastated my world. "Hethlin, Uncle simply does not do that sort of thing! Not at all! And if he did, it would not be casual! So I have to wonder if you haven't given him some sort of idea that you are interested in him. Which, considering that you are currently involved with Lord Elrohir, does not please me in the least!"  
  
Astounded, I stared at him for a long moment. I had discovered in Rohan that I was capable of being disappointed in Faramir, and even angry with him. But I had never imagined the day would come when he could inspire pure fury in me. My arm ached with the urge to rise up and slap him hard across the face. But aside from all the history that we shared, one did not treat the Steward of Gondor so. Instead, I took a deep, deep breath, trying to quell my emotion as the Prince had done earlier, and leaned back against the merlon.  
  
"In the first place, my lord Steward," and his eyebrow shot up at the chill in my voice, "your uncle has long since grown to manhood, and is in full possession of his wits. And while it is true that there was a time when his situation required that he be restrained and discreet, that is no longer the case. His children are grown up, and he may suit himself now. You and I are hardly the only people who were affected by the war--he had command of the City for a while, and fought bravely upon the Pelennor and at the Morannon. He has served well, and with honor, and if he wants to celebrate and kiss a girl at a wedding, then it is no-one's business but his and the girl's. I will remind you that he caught me, and kissed me, not the other way around! There was no harm done to anyone, and while I may have given him the idea about celebrating in general, which I have already admitted, I have never given him any idea that I cared for him as other than my liege!"  
  
The feelings I had experienced at the King's wedding dance flitted through my mind, but since I had not intentionally relayed them to the Prince in any way, I felt I could rightly make that claim. Pale with anger, Faramir started to speak, but I cut him off.  
  
"In the second place, you have no right to call me to account about this. You are not my commander any longer, nor my liege. We are neither kith nor kin."  
  
"I am his kin." His face was shuttered and stern, and at that moment he very much resembled his father, who had always terrified me. But I was past caring about such things.  
  
"And he is hardly a fool, and is old enough to take care of himself."  
  
If I had not recognized the tone of voice in which I had spoken to him, for I had never used it before, I knew well the one in which he replied to me. I had simply never imagined myself the object of his wrath and disdain.  
  
"Excuse me for thinking that I could presume upon our long acquaintance to express my concern over your actions."  
  
I pushed away from the merlon, and moved to face him. "You were not expressing concern, you were accusing me of seducing your uncle! Since the war has been over, you are ever ready to think the worst of me, it seems, while you will forgive your deserter bride anything she does!"  
  
That struck home, I saw, the blade sinking deep and twisting as well. He stared at me, shocked.  
  
"You would speak so of Eowyn, and call her friend to her face?"  
  
"It is nothing I have not spoken of to her face! And whether you wish to admit it or no, a deserter is a person who is given a post then abandons it without leave, and that is what she did at Dunharrow! I did not know anything about it until I went to Edoras, when I became curious about why some of the people there were angry with her. She told me about what had happened and then we quarreled, for I did not approve of her actions. We have agreed to disagree upon the matter and are friends once more, but it lies between us, and we are not as easy with each other as we had been."  
  
"And are you so perfect then, that you have never made a mistake? Can you then not understand and forgive what she did?" His sarcasm was both scathing and elegant, but it did not move me. I was obdurate.  
  
"Mistakes I may have made, but I have never failed in any charge you or any other ever gave me. And had I done so, I seriously doubt you would have been so understanding or forgiving with me." Lips held thin and brow deeply furrowed, he moved away from me to look out over the ramparts at the City.  
  
"It is not the same thing, Hethlin."  
  
"Of course not," I agreed, remaining where I was. "As the Prince has explained to me, Eowyn is the woman you love, while I am merely one of your soldiers. Perhaps something more than a soldier--you drew me from the water, saved my life, and made me a Ranger. I think because of that, whether you realize it or not, you believe that you own me." That turned him back around in a hurry.  
  
"Where ARE you getting all these strange ideas? That is absurd!"  
  
"Is it? Then why did you show your displeasure over my relationship with Elrohir just the other day? Why are you so disapproving of your uncle giving me a kiss? If he were truly attracted to me, which I doubt is the case, why should you object? My lineage is good, I would be a suitable wife for him on that account. Do you not believe your uncle deserves some happiness?" He did not answer, merely giving me a frosty glare, so I continued.  
  
"When Elrohir used to behave thusly, I accused him of being a dog in a manger--having no use for what was in it, but not wanting anyone else to have it either. And now you are acting in just the same way! Lord Elrond has healed my childlessness, but I know well that will not change your mind about me. You do not wish to take me to bed or to wife, but you mislike anyone else wanting to. I am your charge, your creation, and you wish to control my life in all things--in much the same way as your father used to try to control you. You put me much in mind of him just now, my lord Steward."  
  
He paled even further than he already had at that, and for a moment I thought I might have pushed him too far. "I think we may leave my father out of this, my lady. You do yourself no credit with your accusations." There was a frightening lack of expression in his voice, and his eyes were pure grey ice. I should have been terrified--I would have been terrified but scant months before. And in truth, I had no idea where the strength for this reckless opposition was coming from. Perhaps it sprang from my long-thwarted desire for him, or my irritation at his blind adoration of Eowyn.  
  
But wherever it came from, it was continuing--"As you do neither of us any credit when you all but name me slattern, my lord!" Our eyes met and held, like grey steel clashing, and to my amazement, his dropped first.  
  
"I think....." he said at last with some difficulty, "that it would be best if we ended this conversation now, or at very least continued it at a later date. A friend we both hold dear would have his happiest day spoiled if he were ever to learn of this. Good evening, my lady." He bowed to me then, something he'd never done before, but I doubted that it was meant as a gesture of respect--the irony was too obvious.  
  
My head inclined in a fractional, unforgiving nod. "Good evening, my lord Steward." He moved past me and down the stairs, leaving me the high ground. And victory, of an awful sort. 


	49. The Question

For a long time after Faramir departed, I remained upon the ramparts, looking down over the City below. My thoughts were a chaotic jumble, touching randomly upon our argument, and the Prince's kiss, and Elrohir's absence. I was confused as I had ever been in my life, and angry as well; angry at Faramir for his accusations, angry at Imrahil for putting me into this situation, angry at Elrohir for not being here when I needed him. Eventually, looking down at the jollility below, which had not decreased in volume for while there were fewer participants they were drunk by now and all the louder for it, I decided that it was time for me to depart.  
  
I came carefully down the stairs to find that Mablung and Delyth had already left upon their honeymoon, in the wagon with the rest of their presents, and that I had not had a chance to tell them good-bye. This but soured my mood further, though I tried to put on a semblance of cheerfulness as I wished my Ranger friends farewell. I feared that the result was somewhat sickly-looking, but no one commented, and they might very well have thought me ill with too much drink. The few courtiers and servants I encountered upon my way to my room seemed to see nothing unusual; nonetheless, I was very glad to finally close my door behind me.  
  
Felith had left a lamp burning upon the mantle, and I took a spill and lighted some of the others. There was no fire laid upon the hearth, since the evening was warm, though the windows and the door to the balcony were open, admitting the gentle night breezes.  
  
Undressing slowly, I gazed upon my reflection in the mirror that hung in the bathroom. My face looked tired and troubled, but did not seem to adequately reflect the turmoil in my mind. Donning a nightgown, I brushed my hair for longer than usual, for the repetitive motion was soothing, then sought my bed, though I feared that sleep would elude me.  
  
And my fears were correct. I snuffed the lamps, save the small one on the mantle, went to bed--and rested there with my eyes wide open, unable to sleep. Wondering if I should try to anchor and reach for Elrohir, or if it was wise for a novice such as myself to try to reach so far with no help at hand. Thinking back over every contentious word Faramir and I had exchanged, and contemplating the death of our friendship. Remembering Imrahil's kiss, and pondering every feeling it had engendered in me.   
  
It seemed as if I had lain there thinking for half the night, though it was probably only an hour or so, when the knock came at my door. It was a soft knock, and at first I thought that I was imagining things. When it was repeated after a few moments, I got up silently, went to find and don my robe, then moved to the door and opened it. To my very great surprise, Prince Imrahil stood there, though it looked as if he had been about to turn away.  
  
"My lord?" I questioned quietly, and he gave me a tired smile.  
  
"Did I wake you, Hethlin? I apologize if I did." I shook my head.  
  
"Nay, I couldn't sleep." He nodded.  
  
"I could not either. I know that it is not proper, but I was wondering if I could come in and talk to you for a few minutes. I promise that I will behave myself." My answering smile was wry.  
  
"I am not worried about that, my lord." Standing aside, I let him enter the room, and went to light the lamps once more. He came in, closing the door, and I heard a low chuckle.  
  
"Should I be flattered or dismayed by that, I wonder?" I rubbed my eyes tiredly, having no energy to do other than respond literally.  
  
"I meant that I trust you, my lord."  
  
He seated himself, and sobered. "Then I am complimented indeed." Having completed my lamplighting duties, I seated myself in the other chair, and watched him look about the room with appreciation.  
  
"It is a pleasant chamber, and it suits you, with all the forest creatures."  
  
"You did not come so late this evening to discuss the furnishings in my room, my lord. What did you come for?"  
  
"To make sure that you were all right, for one thing. And to try to explain myself, for another. Faramir seemed a bit....disturbed this evening. Did he speak to you after I left?"  
  
"You could say that. He questioned me about what had happened to you on the way to Lorien, and I told him that he would have to talk to you about that. Then he asked me if the elves had done something to you to make you behave so strangely. I told him that they had not. He then accused me of seducing you, since, he said, you would never have done what you did lightly, and without some idea that your feelings were returned. The Steward and I are not friends at present, my liege." The Prince winced, and frowned.  
  
"Oh Hethlin, I am sorry! I would never have intentionally sown discord between you and Faramir! I expect that I shall see him at some point before the day is out. Rest assured I will inform him that you have not tried to seduce me." Shrugging, I leaned back in my chair.  
  
"It matters not. Your actions were not the only thing that drove the wedge between us. The anger and disappointment I felt in Edoras surfaced. I touched upon Eowyn and her desertion, and upon his father. It was not a.......pretty.... conversation by any measure you would choose to use, and while he was the first to draw blood, I finished the fight."  
  
Imrahil sighed, his expression contemplative. "In truth, I am not entirely surprised. I have raised three sons and a daughter, and they love me well, but each of them in their own time and their own way came to a point where they wished to declare their independence of parental bonds--and then we quarreled. Faramir has been many things to you, including a father-substitute, whether you care to admit it or not, and watching you in Edoras I could see that you were growing up and that the time would soon come when the relationship between the two of you would have to change."  
  
"To change is one thing, but to end entirely is quite another," I said gloomily. The Prince gave me a comforting smile.  
  
"Faramir will remember that he is your friend, never fear that he won't."  
  
"I think that it is going to take a while. He was very angry."  
  
"And you were very angry. And you had cause. It may well take a while. But I do believe it will happen." Sighing, I leaned forward in my chair, elbows on knees.  
  
"Well, at least some good has come of this." At Imrahil's questioning look, I explained, "I am so very vexed with him that I almost don't care that he's marrying Eowyn anymore. I wish her joy of him."  
  
"You would have wished them joy even if you were not angry with him, Hethlin. I know you well enough to know that." The Prince's voice was gentle.  
  
Rolling my eyes, I declared, "That is as may be, but I get very tired of being a good person sometimes, do you know that?" Imrahil grinned his pirate's grin.  
  
"It is tiresome, isn't it?"   
  
Suddenly recollecting something, I sat up and gave him an intent stare. "Speaking of bad people, my lord, weren't you going to explain about that kiss to me?" He straightened a bit in his chair as well, and rested his elbows upon the chair's arms. The fingers of his right hand began playing with the rings upon his left--the great carved sapphire that was the seal of Dol Amroth, and his wedding and betrothal bands.  
  
"Ah. Yes. Well. The night is not getting any younger, after all." He seemed suddenly nervous, if that could be believed, and I watched him curiously, for I had never seen him in such a mood before. After a few moments of fidgeting, he took a deep breath, made a visible effort to calm himself, and spoke. "Hethlin, I am afraid that I was not entirely honest with you about my reasons for that kiss."  
  
I frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean?" A rueful, almost ashamed expression came over his face.  
  
"Simply that I wasn't as drunk as you might have thought--Lord Elrond warned me I would have little capacity for such for a while, so I have been cautious--and I wasn't overcome by the festivities. Kissing you was something I had thought about and wanted to do for a very long time, and when a happy chance threw you into my arms, I was quite overcome by the opportunity presented me, and used the excuse of the forfeit to accomplish my desire."  
  
"You wanted to kiss me?" My brow furrowed as I pondered the significance of this statement.  
  
"Oh yes. Very much. And having done so, I want to do so again. And the other things that follow as well." That took a moment to sink in, and when it did, I began to blush furiously.  
  
"You wish to lie with me?" My words came out in an embarassing squeak, and I was suddenly very conscious of my state of undress, the way my robe gaped slightly, and the fact that we were alone in my room. Despite his statement, he made no move towards me but remained sitting upright in his chair, his brow arched.  
  
"You misunderstand me. Or perhaps I am not expressing myself particularly well. The hour is late, and people become incoherent at such times. I do not desire some sort of illicit liason with you, Hethlin--I am asking you to become my wife."  
  
I had taken an arrow high in the shoulder once--Haradrim, not orcish, thankfully--and his calm statement thudded home in much the same way.  
  
"You would not have to wed me to sleep with me, my lord!" I blurted, and he frowned.  
  
"Do you mean that I have your permission to take advantage of you in that way, or that because of my position, I could do so without fear of reprisal?"  
  
"Nay! Neither! I mean....oh, I guess what I am trying to say is that wanting to do that is not a good reason to marry someone." The Prince's face cleared immediately, and he smiled, the singularly sweet smile that had so shaken me at the dance.  
  
"Indeed it is not! And it is fitting that you should question my intentions! In answer, I will say to you that it is not merely desire that brings me to propose to you. I was attracted to you from the day we went on that picnic together, and I realized that I loved you on the trip to Lorien. The day that you had to carry me before you on your horse, after I was wounded.......that was arguably one of the worst and best days of my life, all at once. One of the worst because I spent the whole day thinking I was going to die between each breath and the next, and was in such agony that I was almost hoping I would. And one of the best, because your arms were around me, and you were speaking to me. You have the most beautiful speaking voice," he added, almost inconsequentially, and I turned red as a rose.  
  
"But I can't sing. I sound like a frog."  
  
"You sing when you speak," he corrected me gently, and I felt my heart make that peculiar thump in my chest once more. He was watching me expectantly, his sea-grey eyes glowing softly in a way that Faramir's never had, and suddenly panic overcome me. The Prince of Dol Amroth had just told me that he loved me!  
  
"What shall I say?" I entreated him, as if he were not the very person who had put me in this state with his proposal.  
  
"Say what you will, yeay or nay, without fear," he replied calmly. "I am not the sort who would take offense were you to refuse me."  
  
"What about the King's charge?" He leaned back in his chair.  
  
"I think the King would be glad enough to find another bodyguard for his Queen, were you to become my wife. I would certainly expect him to." He did not seem at all dismayed about the prospect of confronting Aragorn about the matter.  
  
"I would not be training to be a Swan Knight then." Imrahil gave me a surprised look.  
  
"I did not think that you truly wanted to, that you would have preferred to remain a Ranger. But I would not make you put down your sword, Hethlin--I know what it means to you. And to be blunt--I am well-provided for heirs."  
  
"But I am not! And the Eagles expect one!" His smile was suddenly wicked once more.  
  
"Then I think we could contrive something." My blush, which had just begun to subside, blossomed again, and I looked upon him in bafflement. The thought came to me that I was probably the only girl of good family in Gondor that wouldn't have already jumped at the chance he offered me. Here was the richest man in Gondor proposing to me! I would have wealth, position, power--and all of the nice horses I could ever want!  
  
And it was not even as if he were some detestable, lecherous, fat, debauched nobleman who had to make up for his shortcomings with his purse! He was good and kind and gracious and gallant. He was understanding and compassionate. He was extremely handsome and charismatic. There would be no question about what kind of husband and father he would turn out to be--he had already proven he was of the finest caliber in both of those areas. His worthiness was not an issue at all.  
  
But there were issues........"My lord, you do me more honor than I deserve," I heard myself saying, "but I will not wed with you at this time." Imrahil sighed gently, sagged wearily into his seat, and that happy glow in his eyes dimmed. I hated myself.  
  
"May I ask why?"  
  
I nodded. "You certainly may. At the dance a few days ago, I realized that I was indeed very attracted to you. And I am confused! I do not yet know if it was because I have a habit of becoming attracted to all of my commanders," the corners of his mouth twitched at this,"or because you remind me of your nephew, or if it is indeed a genuine feeling for you. I would not wish to wed you, and discover that I had done so to substitute you for Faramir, that you were not in fact at all alike, and be disappointed in my choice. I do not believe you would enjoy that either." The Prince accepted my explanation calmly enough, though his fingers began stroking the signet ring once more.  
  
"No, I agree with you--that would be unpleasant. Is there anything else?" I nodded again.  
  
"My grandfather thinks I should go North, and of course the Eagles do too. It would be difficult learning to be a Ranger in the North, but I am sure I could do it. The King wishes me to train with the Swan Knights, and that would be difficult to do as well, but I think that I could become one if I worked very, very hard. Marrying you would solve all my problems, and be the easy thing to do. Not that I'm saying that being a Princess probably doesn't bring its own sort of problems, but compared to the others..."  
  
"...it is the easiest thing to do, so probably not the right one, by the very standards I have discussed with you before?" he finished.  
  
"Aye!" I answered gratefully. "And then there's Elrohir to consider......"  
  
"Indeed," he murmured, "there is Elrohir." He looked down at his hands for a long moment, then looked up at me and smiled with seeming serenity. Having become more than a little sensitive to his moods of late, I could guess what that smile cost him, and another pang of guilt smote me. "Very well then, we will leave things as they are for now. My offer still stands, should you choose to reconsider at some point. I am not so fickle in my affections that I will be making it to another, at least not in the forseeable future. And in the unlikely event that I did find another lady I held in as high regard as I hold you, I would inform you of it first." He got up, and I rose with him.  
  
"Hethlin, I knew that my timing was not the best, but I had also heard that you were considering going North, and feared that if I did not speak, I would never have the chance to do so."  
  
"I do not know what I am going to do, sir. Particularly now."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
"Well, it is going to be difficult for you to have me as your esquire, is it not?" He gave me a very direct look.  
  
"That is my problem, not yours, Hethlin, and I will deal with it. You need not be concerned that my actions this night will affect your training in any way. I promise you that they will not. Make your decision as you will and do not worry about me."  
  
"Very well, my lord. I am sorry if I hurt you--I would not do that for the world."  
  
"You have not injured me. I asked you a question, and you gave me an honest answer. I would not have had you do otherwise, and therefore, no harm is done." He seemed sincere enough about that, though I reminded myself he was a very good actor. With an audible popping of joints, he stretched and turned to go. "Valar, but it is late! You had best get some sleep. I certainly intend to. Take tomorrow off, and come to me the day after, for lunch. I wish to discuss the trip to Rohan with you." At my surprised look, he explained.  
  
"I know you did not wish to return there and witness Faramir's betrothal to Eowyn, but have you not considered that it would be an opportunity to spend more time with your grandfather? And Elrohir, of course."  
  
"So Faramir said, when we were still speaking to each other. He also said that it would be the one opportunity I would have to go North in relative safety."  
  
"He was right about that. Additionally, Andrahar will be accompanying me to Rohan, instead of returning home with the new esquires, as had originally been planned. He seems to think I need looking after, for some reason." At my shamefaced grimace, the prince chuckled.  
  
"Cheer up, Hethlin, he blames me as well, for leaving behind my chief protector! But in any event, your training would be better served if you accompanied me. Most of your possible decisions would. The only thing against the journey I can see is that Eomer will be accompanying us. And I think that perhaps Lothiriel could be persuaded to keep him busy."  
  
I agreed that the Princess could probably be convinced to do so without much coaxing at all, and escorted him as he went to the door. There, he turned and looked down at me, his expression undecipherable. His left hand reached up, the fingers lightly tracing the scar on my cheek for a moment. I closed my eyes, combatting a desire to lean into the hand. Feeling him step back, I opened them and found him opening the door, looking at me in a way that was gentle yet strangely intent all at once.  
  
"Good night to you, my lady." Was there a certain possessive emphasis to the last phrase? I rather fancied that there was.  
  
"Good night, my lord." He sketched me a bow, consciously dramatic and flamboyant, and despite my confusion and unhappiness, it was so ridiculous looking that a laugh burst from me. Then he departed.  
  
Closing the door, I moved back into the room, which seemed rather cold and lonely without him, and moved once more to snuff the lamps. Then I laid the robe across the foot of the bed, and slipped between the sheets. For some reason tears came to me then, though they hadn't earlier when the hurt of the argument with Faramir had been fresher. And in truth, I was not even certain they were about him any more. My nose was quite stuffy and my eyes sore before I finally fell asleep. 


	50. The harper

I awoke to two sensations--a throbbing headache that told me I'd drunk more beer than I thought I had, and a cool, slender hand stroking my brow.  
  
"Snowsteel had too good a time yestereve, from the look of things," purred a familiar voice. I sat up beneath the hand, blinking blearily. Elrohir was perched on one hip upon my bed, looking much too lively, and disgustingly fresh as a daisy in a clean shirt and breeches.  
  
"When did you get back?" I inquired a bit grumpily, "and how long have you been here?"   
  
"I came with the dawn!" he declared dramatically. "But I took the time to wash the dust of the road off, and then I watched you sleep for a while."  
  
"You watched me sleep? Whatever for?"  
  
"You were making the most interesting noises--not snoring, exactly. More like snuffling."  
  
"I do not snuffle!"  
  
"Perhaps not in the normal course of events, but after a night of dancing and drinking you do. That magnificent nose of yours is apparently capable of a wide variety of sounds." Refusing to dignify his assertion with a spoken response, I merely glared indignantly at him. Elrohir grinned his rakish grin in answer to my look, then to my surprise, grew serious.  
  
"There is much unrest in your mind, Snowsteel--what has happened?"  
  
"What--you didn't simply look for yourself?" He shrugged.  
  
"Of late, I have been endeavoring not to be so high-handed where you are concerned. Had you not noticed?" Not wanting to discourage such tendencies, I hastened to reply.  
  
"I had noticed your recent restraint, and I do appreciate it. How was your time in Ithilien?" He actually rolled his eyes, something I didn't remember having seen him do before. It looked odd in an Elvish face, and I suspected that it might be something full-blooded elves didn't do at all.  
  
"It went well enough. We helped the Rangers find their orcs. I grew weary of the hunt after that, and started back on my own. The others are there still. Legolas seemed set on speaking to every tree in Ithilien, trying to find just the right place for his folk to settle."  
  
"Did he have any luck?"  
  
"He had already found a couple of places he fancied when I left. He is very taken with Ithilien."  
  
"He doesn't really talk to trees, does he?" I asked curiously, and got an incredulous look in return.  
  
"YOU find that hard to believe for some reason, oh speaker to giant feather-dusters?" I had to admit he had a point.  
  
"Would you like some breakfast?" I asked, finally remembering my manners. Instead of answering, he uncoiled from the bed and went to the bell pull.  
  
"Indeed I would. Since Felith finds me comely, I shall ask for us both--we will get more food more swiftly that way. Perhaps even leaf-cakes, if they are available."  
  
"Someone has a good opinion of himself this morning," I noted, taking the opportunity to get out of the bed and retreat to the bathroom for a few moments. Morning necessities completed, a liberal application of cold water and woodsy scented soap to face and hands served both to wake and refresh me, and I went back out to fetch my robe from the bed and tie it about me.  
  
"And someone else is in a very bad mood," Elrohir noted, gliding over and taking me into his arms. "I repeat my earlier question--what happened last night?" He pressed his forehead against mine, while endeavoring to look meaningfully into my eyes. The end result was that we both went almost cross-eyed, hardly the most romantic of visions. I had to laugh despite my aching head. He smiled at me, tipped his head to the side a bit and pressed his lips gently against mine. I melted against him and closed my eyes. Whether out of consideration for my headache, or some other reason, his kiss was an undemanding one, his lips cooler than the Prince's had been last night, and softer as well. It went on for a long time, and ended on a sigh.  
  
"The Prince kissed you last night." It was not a question, and though I started and looked at him in trepidation, his voice was utterly calm.  
  
"Aye." My reply was a whisper.  
  
A silky black brow arched in inquiry. "And you found it pleasant?"  
  
"Aye," I whispered once more, feeling the basest wretch in the world. Long-fingered hands slid up my shoulders to cup my face gently.  
  
"Hethlin. It is well. I am not wroth with you. Did you think I would be--was that why you were upset? Or did something else happen?"  
  
"Aye. I mean nay! I mean--I did not know if you would be angry or not. But that is not all that happened. The Prince kissed me, then after he left the wedding, Faramir took me to task about it, saying that I must have seduced his uncle." I felt Elrohir stiffen for a moment, a flash of silver flame in his eyes. Then, with an effort even my poor mortal eyes could see, he relaxed. "So we quarreled. Oh, I was the most horrible person, Elrohir--I called Eowyn a deserter bride, and told Faramir that he was just like his father!"  
  
Elrohir did not seem to find this quite as devastating a development as I did--his effort to repress a smile lacked convincing sincerity. "You could not have been as horrible as all that!" came his reply after a long moment's pause. I frowned at him.  
  
"I am serious, Elrohir! We are not even friends any longer! I feel terrible about the whole thing!" Pulling free of his grasp, I moved over to one of the chairs, flopping down in it. He arched his eyebrows and whistled, low and melodious.  
  
"That must have been quite a kiss, and quite a quarrel! I see now why you are so distraught." He was about to follow me over, and seat himself in the other chair, when a knock at the door announced Felith's arrival. Excusing himself, he went to flirt with the maid and order our breakfasts while I glumly contemplated the previous night's events once more.  
  
"And that is still not all that happened," I continued when he returned and seated himself. "I came back here, and tried to sleep, but I could not. Then Prince Imrahil showed up and said he couldn't sleep either, and that he wanted to talk to me. So I told him about the quarrel, and he told me that he had kissed me because he loved me, and he wanted me to marry him." Elrohir grew very still once more, and I felt a surge of something through our link, something I couldn't define because he blocked it so swiftly and with such thoroughness that a pang of pain shot through my already aching head. I cried out, and he gave me a contrite smile.  
  
"I apologize, Snowsteel--I am not usually so clumsy. Here, let me see if I can ease you." Getting up, he moved around to the back of my chair and laid his fingertips upon my temples, commencing a massage that began to send a warm tingle through my skull. I sighed in relief as the headache began to retreat  
  
"Imrahil asked you to marry him?" Elrohir inquired quietly, as he continued his ministrations. "That is not entirely surprising--I told you he was attracted to you some time back when we were on our way to Lorien." I made a careful little nod, loathe hurt my head further or to dislodge his soothing fingers.  
  
"I remember."  
  
"What answer did you give him?" His tone of voice was politely curious, so I responded without hesitation.  
  
"I told him no."  
  
There was a moment's pause before he answered. "Why, if I may be so bold? He is the biggest marriage prize in all of Gondor. And a good man as well."  
  
"I am not interested in prizes, or riches. I really don't want to be a princess. He reminds me of Faramir, and I wish to be certain that my attraction to him is not because of that resemblance."  
  
"The Prince is nothing like Faramir!" Elrohir asserted vehemently. Frowning, I moved from between his hands, and turned to face him.  
  
"Please don't start in on Faramir again, Elrohir! You've made it perfectly clear to me any number of times that you do not like him.! And the Prince does remind me of him--their smiles are the same, they tilt their heads to the side in exactly the same manner, they even sound somewhat alike! The Prince deserves more than a wife who married him because he reminds her of someone else!" Elrohir slid back over towards his chair, draping himself over it bonelessly, and waved a slender hand.  
  
"He might settle for that at first, Snowsteel, figuring that he would be able to convince you to love him upon his own merits once you were wed. From what I understand of mortal marriage, and I have seen a few in my time, it is more than many couples start with."  
  
"We are not going to be wed, so the opportunity for him to convince me will not arise."  
  
"But you are drawn to him. You admitted as much to me."  
  
"Aye, that I am."  
  
"Then how do you know you cannot love him if you will not associate with him?"  
  
"Associating with him is one thing, marrying him is quite another!"  
  
"Will you go North then, and forego the training at Dol Amroth? Go home with your grandfather?"  
  
"I don't know! That's another reason I gave him, that I just didn't know what I was going to do--about Dol Amroth, or the North--"  
  
"--or me?" he interjected quietly.  
  
"Or you," I agreed. "I did mention you." Elrohir was on his feet of a sudden, without my clear recollection of how he had gotten there, and moved towards the balcony doors, which were open as usual. He paused between them, limned in the morning light, his back to me, his hands clasped behind it, his head lifted as if to scent the morning breeze. Locks of his night-black hair stirred fitfully in the moving air.  
  
"Snowsteel," he said, somber as I'd ever heard him, "It seems that it is time we had a talk."  
  
I advanced towards him till I stood but a couple of paces behind him, a cold chill settling over me. "A talk about what?"  
  
He turned to face me, and his face was not the young, uncertain face he had shown me upon Cerin Amroth, but the face of a being who was every bit of three thousand years old.  
  
"Do you still hold to our agreement? That we are friends who share hearts-ease with each other, and that we are free to seek attachments elsewhere?"  
  
"Aye..." I said slowly. "Why do you ask?"   
  
"Because if that is indeed the case, I would prefer that you not use me as an excuse to avoid relationships with other men." I stared at him, my eyes stinging, and felt the room tip a bit unsteadily under my feet.  
  
"I am sorry, Elrohir, I did not mean to offend you, or to imply to the Prince that things between us were anything more than what we had agreed to." My face felt as stiff and frozen as my voice, and I staggered a step backwards, towards the bed. He moved swiftly forward, and steadied me with a firm hand under the elbow.  
  
"Be at peace! You misunderstand me. No offense was taken." The next thing I knew he had seized both of my elbows and lifted me up to sit upon the edge of the high bed. It was a task that seemed to cost him little effort despite my size, reminding me once more of how strong he really was. He then followed me up with a lithe hop. His hands folded about mine, which was comforting, for mine felt cold of a sudden, and he gazed into my eyes gravely.  
  
"I am simply saying that you must understand how things are. There is information you do not have, that you need to know. What did you think would happen, were you to come North?"  
  
Still frightened, I tried to choose my words carefully. "You had said once....right before the wedding, that you wanted me to. Grandfather did too. I thought I would stay either with you or with him, that we could go out Rangering together. You said that you and Elladan rode often with the Dunedain."  
  
He nodded. "We did, and we will. And such a prospect seems pleasant enough to me, save for one thing." At my quizzical look, he continued. "You are the head of your House, Hethlin, by your own decree. Having gone through so much trouble to establish that, will you let it die in the end? The Eagles expect you to 'nest'; the sooner, the better, as far as they are concerned. And any nest you make with me will be an empty one."  
  
Baffled, I said, "But your father told me, when he agreed to heal me, that one of the reasons he did it was so that you would not be childless."  
  
"Were those his exact words?" At his prompting, I tried to recollect the conversation as best I could.  
  
"He said something about if you cleaved unto me, he did not want you to be childless. That's as close as I remember."  
  
Elrohir nodded. "I thought as much. What he meant was that if I decided to go back on my oath to him, and choose mortality to be with you, then we would be able to have children." Realization dawned upon me, and he nodded once more.  
  
"That is correct. If we were to conceive a child together, we would be wed by Elven standards, and I would have made my choice. So you see, unless you wish to release me from my promise to you, you will have to wed another, mortal man one day to fulfill your obligations to your House, and to the Eagles." His silver eyes bored into mine, but I could still read nothing from him--he had been walling away his mind from mine throughout the entire discussion. "Were you wanting to release me from my promise, Hethlin?" he asked after a moment in the gentlest of voices.  
  
I looked at him, so beautiful and fey, and thought about the wonders I'd seen in Lothlorien. I remembered what Elrohir had said about his father leaving, and what the King had told me about all the elves going over the Sea, and how sad I had felt when he told me that, the sense of losing something irreplaceable and wondrous that had come over me. I could not bear to be a part of the destruction of something so marvelous, to have to watch Elladan watch both his brother and his sister age and die, to see the sorrow deepen in Lord Celeborn's bottomless blue eyes......  
  
"Nay, Elrohir," I whispered, that burning feeling in my eyes once more, "I don't want to release you." He gave me a long, unfathomable look, and I felt the brush of his mind against mine like a feather. Then he smiled, the wicked light suddenly back in his eyes.  
  
"Very well then. The next time some nice gentleman you fancy takes a fancy to you in return, you will not worry about what I might think about it! And in the event some elf-maid catches my eye, I will certainly not give your feelings any consideration whatsoever!" I laughed reluctantly, and he reached up and stroked my cheek.  
  
"Feeling better now, Snowsteel?"  
  
"A little. I did not want to be at odds with you as well."  
  
"There was no danger of that. I am sorry if I frightened you." He pulled me back down upon the bed suddenly, and gave me a roguish look. "You must tell me of your evening--it sounds most exciting! Was the Prince very romantic? How did he ask you? Was he very woeful when you refused him?" Taken aback, I was staring at him, trying to fathom this sudden change of mood, wondering where I wanted to begin and indeed how much I wanted to tell him at all, when a knock at the door announced the arrival of our breakfast and my salvation--or so I thought. He leapt up and went to the door, murmuring thanks and compliments to Felith or whoever had brought the food, then closed the door, and carried it back to the small table.  
  
Lifting the silver lid that covered it, he surveyed the contents with satisfaction. "Excellent! They brought enough for the two of us, even though I am quite faint with hunger from all my travels, and you have the appetite of a hobbit! Come see, and take a plate, Snowsteel! No leafcakes, unfortunately, but eggs and melon and toast and bacon and cherries and milk and cream and honey and jam...." I had just started to get out of bed and come over when I caught a glimpse from his now unshielded mind of a very wicked plan involving me and the condiments. Yelping, I dived back under the covers.  
  
Breakfast was a very long meal, interrupted rather stickily several times, and concluded only when Felith came in, took one look at the aftermath of things, blushed to the roots of her greying hair, then chivvied the two of us into hot baths and then clean clothes. Finally, she chased us out into the light of day, grumbling all the while-- "How I am to make order out of all this mess, I'm sure I don't know and why they call them the Elder race I don't know either; a big bunch of messy children they seem to me!" Elrohir plied her with his doleful, pitiful eyes, and some rather florid compliments, but found her unmoved for once.  
  
"You are a bad influence upon the young lady, milord, and that's a fact! And you old enough to know better!" I flopped into a chair and howled till tears leaked from my eyes when she made that declaration, to Elrohir's great disgust. Our mess was truly impressive, and Felith thoroughly provoked, so provoked that I thought at one point she was actually going to swat Elrohir with her broom, so it was just as well we escaped when we did.  
  
We came out into the bright, hot sunlight to find that it was a little before noon. Elrohir proposed a shopping trip with perhaps some lunch later. He had, he said, a present to look for.  
  
"The Prince told me where I might find what I desired in Minas Tirith, though he says that the one he has that I admired was done by an artist in Dol Amroth. I will go there if I must."  
  
"What is it that you want?"  
  
"Do you remember the little painting of his wife that we found in his things when we were traveling to Lorien?" I nodded. "I thought that I might find someone to do a similar portrait of myself and Elladan and Arwen. Father could take it to Mother when he leaves."  
  
"That is a lovely idea!"  
  
"I rather thought so."  
  
"Would you want a little picture like the Prince's, or something bigger?"  
  
"That I have not decided yet. And I will probably look at several artists' work before I settle upon one."  
  
"Are there several artists in Minas Tirith? I would think they might not have returned yet."  
  
"The Prince seems to think it will not be a problem. He said to go look upon Artisan's Street."   
  
"That's down on the fourth circle, tucked away towards the back of the mountain."  
  
"Then I will rely upon you to guide me, oh knowledgeable one." We strode out briskly, despite the heat of the day--of course we were going downhill, which made matters easier.. Chatting about things that caught our eyes in the bustle of the burgeoning new life of the City passed the time pleasantly enough until we could reach Artisan's Street. It was, as I had said, close to the shoulder of Mindoullin, and far from the bustle of the main road. Only the occasional sound of a hammer or saw and the chirp of birds in some of the few old trees that lined the way disturbed the quiet. Drop-down counters at the fronts of the shops displayed some of the artisans' works in the bright sunlight. There were not only painters and limners, but fine cabinet-makers and a musical instrument-maker, a tapestry weaver and one whitesmith.  
  
Elrohir tarried at the instrument-maker's for a time, admiring his work. One harp in particular caught his eye, a lap harp with what seemed to me over many silver strings for its small size. They were strung crosswise down it on both sides, and for the life of me, I didn't see how anyone could play the thing, but Elrohir's eyes lit from within when he saw it. The pillar and arch and body of it were of an utterly black wood that the maker said was not dyed, but actually its natural color, and had been imported from south of Harad in his father's time, and the soundboard was of some silvery, almost white wood whose name I did not recognize, but Elrohir nodded and said was native to Arnor. The black wood was inlaid with silver tracery and leaves and stars of the white wood, while the soundboard was in turn inlaid with the same design in silver and the black wood. The string shoes and tuning pegs were etched silver, and the pegs looked like Mumak ivory. Even my ignorant self could sense the craftsmanship that had gone into it.  
  
"A cross-strung harp," Elrohir commented. "I did not think that the Men of the South still had such things."  
  
"My father started studying old texts and drawings of them in while he was alive, my lord, and left his notes to me upon his passing," the harp-maker replied, coming out of his shop in response to Elrohir's interest. "I have been working upon re-creating one since that time. This is but a small one--I have a larger one in progress now. 'Tis said they had them in Numenor." Elrohir nodded, and took it gently up.  
  
"May I?" he asked, and the man nodded, and handed him the tuning key. Despite the daunting number of strings, it had been put in tune, and required only a few small adjustments before it was ready to play.  
  
Once before, I had heard Elrohir make magic on a simple harp of the Rohirrim. I was expecting something lovely to occur. That being so, I was still awed and astonished at what he could create with a harp that was worthy of his skill. Hopping up onto a low wall that bounded the shop, he cradled the harp against himself, and his gifted fingers began to coax the sounds of rain and falling water and wind and joy and sorrow from it.  
  
From all over the street, people began to leave their shops and come towards us, irresistibly drawn by the music. The instrument maker watched joyfully as he experienced what his creation could do in the hands of a master. Elrohir, his cheek resting against the top of the harp, was smiling in a way I'd rarely seen, a gentle smile of purest pleasure and enjoyment, his eyes rapt and distant.  
  
His impromptu audience applauded when he finished his first song, if song it could have been said to be--more of a musical ramble it had seemed to me, though executed with flawless grace. He looked up in surprise, as if he had been far away indeed, then grinned and launched into a rippling, sprightly tune. That song was followed by several others, till he regretfully told the crowd that he had to go, and handed the instrument back to its maker. The instrument-maker thanked him in a most heartfelt manner for the demonstration.  
  
"I have barely enough skill with a harp to test my instruments' range and voice," he said, "and I was beginning to despair of finding anyone who truly knew how to play one of these. How did you find her, my lord?"  
  
"Well-wrought and true, with a sweet tone," came Elrohir's considered answer. "The strings are set close together, but that would be appropriate for a lady's harp--or an Elf's. And her voice will only improve with time, I think." He smiled. "Perhaps I will see your larger harp one day, when I visit the City again."  
  
"You would be most welcome at any time, my lord," the man declared, and we took our leave of him.  
  
"That was lovely," I told him, as we strolled down the street, pausing to look at the wares of the first painter's stall we encountered. His fingers twitched reflexively.  
  
"It has been long since I had the leisure to truly make music. I miss it."  
  
"Well I am glad I didn't miss that!"   
  
Elrohir's smile held nothing of its usual mockery as he twined his fingers in mine for a moment. At a second stall, he went within the shop itself to speak to the artist, apparently taken with his work. I paused at the entrance.  
  
"If you are going to be here a while, I think I will look about for a bit," I told him. He nodded, and I promptly made my way back to the instrument maker.  
  
"How much?" I asked without preamble, indicating the black harp, and without hesitation, he named a price that was twice my remaining back pay, and a little over. I had expected it to be expensive, but had not enough previous experience in pricing things other than arms and the weapons of war to know how it would be valued. The ability to make such fine music was apparently worth eight to nine years of mortal peril for a common man. Recalculating the cost of all of the little bits of finery my liege-lord habitually traveled with in the light of this new knowledge, I began to finally comprehend the full extent of his wealth. Imrahil's silver-mounted bridle alone would have probably fed a large, poor family for a couple of years. To him, this would have been almost a bauble, a purchase he could have made upon impulse. For me--it was out of my reach, unless I could find some way to come up with the rest of the money.  
  
For the first time in my life, I felt the lack of coin, for I had never truly hungered or even wanted for much. I had always had shelter and food and clothing-- and even access to horses and books from time to time. I had naught to complain of, and knew myself to be fortunate. But I still wanted that harp, for it was the first thing made by mortals that I had ever seen Elrohir approve of; indeed, the first such thing I'd ever seen him express an interest in at all. It was something I could give him in return for my life, the marvelous black Elven bow, the pleasure we'd shared and all the rest of it.  
  
"Master..."   
  
"...Taloreth," he supplied for me kindly, watching as I stroked the arch of the harp with a careful finger.  
  
"Master Taloreth. Is there any way you could hold this harp for a couple of days? So that I may find sufficient funds to meet your price? I would be willing to pay something for the privilege."  
  
He smiled. "That will not be necessary, my lady. I would be glad to hold it for a couple of days. Though I will warn you, playing one of these will be difficult if you have little experience with a single-strung harp."  
  
"Oh, it's not for me!" I hastened to assure him. "I have no skill in music at all! I wish to surprise my friend."  
  
"Such a fine musician has no instrument of his own?"  
  
"Not here, not to my knowledge. I am sure he has one at his home in the North. But he is the Queen's brother, and will visit often. I would like to get him a harp to keep here."  
  
"I see," he said, and stifled a smile. A brief impression of how Elrohir and I must look as a couple flashed through my mind--plain, mannish girl and incredibly handsome elf. I wondered if the instrument-maker thought I sought to buy Elrohir's favor or keep it with a rich gift. In the end, I truly did not care what he thought, so long as I could find a way to buy the harp from him.  
  
Thanking him for his consideration, I went back up the street to find that Elrohir had moved on to a third painter. It was not long before he had studied the man's works and concluded his business to his satisfaction. Taking me by the arm, he led me back onto the street.  
  
"The third fellow might suit me very well," he said. "I shall have to come down here with Elladan and have him sketch the two of us. If I like what I see, I'll get Arwen to come as well. Are you hungry yet?"  
  
"Not very, we ate breakfast so late. But I will not say nay to lunch." He did not make any comment about that for a change, apparently still mellow from his music-making, but merely smiled and steered me back up to the third circle, where we found a very nice inn that served a much nicer lunch than what could be had at the Red Dog. Once we had ordered our food, and had been served, there was little conversation for a time. I finished first, then watched him for a while, as he consumed a plate of fruit salad with great enthusiasm. When he paused to draw breath, I asked him something that I had long been curious about.  
  
"Why don't you like Faramir, Elrohir? I don't know of anything he has done to you, but I have never seen the two of you together when you are not almost at each other's throats."  
  
His eyebrow flicked up in surprise. "What brought this on? The quarrel?"  
  
"That is part of it, but it's something that I have been wanting to know for a while now."  
  
Elrohir did not answer me immediately, but he had a thoughtful look upon his face that told me he was considering the matter, so I did not press him. Some moments later, he cleared his throat and dabbed at his lips with a napkin.  
  
"You should know that I do think that the Steward is a good man at heart. And a valorous one. I suppose that my main objection is that he is not totally honest with himself." At my quizzical look, he folded his hands upon the table, and explained.  
  
"He is possessive of you, and will not admit it to himself."  
  
"I told him when we quarreled that he thought he owned me."  
  
"And you told him the truth, I deem. He is attracted to you as well, and will not admit that either."  
  
"He loves Eowyn. He does not look at me in that way."  
  
"He worships Eowyn. But he has been tempted by you." I was startled by the matter-of-fact firmness of this statement. "And because he cannot admit that to himself, he attributed his lecherous thoughts to you, and accused you of seducing his uncle."  
  
"That may be true, but it does not explain why you have always been so evil to him."  
  
Elrohir sighed. "I suppose that most recently and in our earlier quarrels as well, I was simply trying to provoke him because I was irked at him for his treatment of you. I can say is that no matter how good a man the Steward is, the war and his father's treatment of him have left him deeply scarred. You have come through so much that should have scarred you as well, Snowsteel. You fought your way clear of it, have healed yourself and have earned the right to live the rest of your life in contentment with a husband who is your equal. Had Faramir returned your love as you wished, you would have spent the rest of your life caring for him, trying to heal what had been done to him. And I did not want that for you."  
  
Frowning, I asked, "Having saved my life, are you not being possessive yourself in your ongoing desire to arrange my life as you see fit?"  
  
"But I have not arranged it," Elrohir demurred. "I have never interfered between you and Faramir--if he does not return your love, it is not my doing. I am merely saying that I do not feel he would have been a good husband for you."  
  
"And who would you approve of, my lord matchmaker? The Prince?" I took a deep draught of ale from the tankard I'd been sipping through lunch. The corner of Elrohir's mouth curled up.  
  
"Whyever should I approve of the Prince? He has only ever thought of your well-being before his own, including being willing to endure a most horrendous and agonizing death simply so you would know that we had tried all we could to save him. Do you not remember the sparring match with Eowyn, where he made sure that you would have your chance to shine? He sent you into harm at Min-rimmon, 'tis true, but that was all unwitting on his part, and he had created the errand to give you some relief and comfort at a difficult time. And he has never accused you of or thought you capable of any base action. Having declared his love, and been refused, do you see Imrahil anywhere near you, troubling your peace? You will not, I wager, despite the fact that he must sorely desire to be with you. And there is much that he could teach you. I do not say that you should wed him, Snowsteel, but I do say that you should wed the man you can love who treats you as he does." He popped a last piece of melon delicately into his mouth and consumed it while I pondered his words.  
  
"You make a valid point there."  
  
"Of course I do. I am far older than thou, my sweet, and wise with it." I snorted, and he rose, grinning, setting his napkin aside and offering me a hand up. He paid the bill for our meal, and we exited forth into the City once more. Unfortunately, his mood had turned both mercurial and whimsical, and he harassed me all the long way back up to the Citadel by suggesting to me potential husbands of the most ridiculous sort, and the advantages and disadvantages each offered--Lorend, Lord Hurin (a happily married man already), the Haradrim ambassador, Lord Erestor, Gandalf, Haldir, and the four hobbits were among his candidates. His assessments were truly hilarious, and I did not know if I would ever be able to face any of the prospective grooms with a straight face again.  
  
I was still laughing as he returned me to my chamber door, then bowed over my hand, saying he had promised to attend upon Arwen that day and had not done so yet. He vowed to return to me after supper, we kissed, and he departed. Entering the room, I found that Felith had worked wonders in my absence, and that things were as cleanly and beautiful as ever. What looked to be a letter lay upon my table, and I went over and picked it up. Letter or note it was indeed, sealed with the seal of the Steward of Gondor. Wondering if it were not some order for my arrest, or a missive eloquently expressing Faramir's further ire, I opened it a bit shakily, my heart plummeting into my stomach. There were few words, and they were to the point.  
  
To the lady Hethlin my greetings—  
  
Misfortune loves a quarrel between friends, my uncle reminds me. We quarreled once before battle and only by chance did we make our peace ere we both fell beneath the Shadow. And since – despite our words last night – I would still call you 'friend', I would not tempt fate a second time, Hethlin.   
  
Shall we meet, my lady, and make our peace again?   
  
Faramir of Ithilien 


	51. The Gift

To the lady Hethlin my greetings—  
  
Misfortune loves a quarrel between friends, my uncle reminds me. We quarreled once before battle and only by chance did we make our peace ere we both fell beneath the Shadow. And since – despite our words last night – I would still call you 'friend', I would not tempt fate a second time, Hethlin.   
  
Shall we meet, my lady, and make our peace again?   
  
Faramir of Ithilien  
  
To Prince Faramir, Steward of Gondor, my greetings in turn.  
  
My lord prince,  
  
I have few claims upon my time at present, save for a luncheon at your uncle's home on the morrow. Since you have many claims upon yours, I leave to you the choice of time and place for our meeting.  
  
Hethlin  
  
To the lady Hethlin, my greetings once again--  
  
My thanks for your willingness to meet with me. If you do not feel that you will already have spent enough time in my family's company for one day, then I would ask that you join me for dinner at my home tomorrow the second hour after sunset.  
  
Faramir of Ithilien  
  
To Prince Faramir, Steward of Gondor, greetings once more--  
  
I shall attend upon you at the place and time you have suggested.  
  
Hethlin  
  
This exchange of notes between myself and Faramir lasted into the early evening. Felith had acquired for me paper and ink, and I spent quite some time composing my brief messages, and writing them as neatly as possible. When all had been arranged, it was suppertime, and I asked her to bring me something to my room, as I was not in the mood for company.  
  
"Will Lord Elrohir be joining you this evening?" she inquired.  
  
"Nay, I think he is having supper with his family tonight. He will return later."   
  
Felith raised her eyebrows at this, but forbore to comment further, other than to say "Well, at least the meal will be over with!"   
  
I chuckled, and decided while waiting for my dinner to spend some time surveying my possessions to see if I had anything else I could barter for the harp. The survey did not take long. I had some very nice things, there was no denying that; several suits of beautiful clothes, my horse and harness, my bow, but everything of value was either a gift, and therefore sacrosanct, or something that had belonged to my family, and also non-negotiable. There was only one exception.  
  
Weighing the Haradrim necklace in my hand, I studied it, wondering if it would suffice to make up the difference. The craftsmanship was much finer than many of the other pieces the Rangers had plundered, and there was quite a weight of gold and ivory in it; more gold, I estimated, than what remained in the soft leather bag Faramir had given me. I thought that it might suffice, but wondered for a while whether I truly wished to give it up. It was plunder, come by honestly, but with it also came memories, some good, some bad, of my time in Ithilien.  
  
I remembered the Mumaks, and the sense of accomplishment I had felt when I killed them. Then I remembered Elrohir's music, and the joy I had felt when he played. Decision made, I slipped the necklace into the bag with the coins. When dinner was done, I put it in my belt pouch, and set out once more for the fourth circle.  
  
**********************************  
  
While on my way to the instrument-maker's shop, it occurred to me that it might be a good idea to get Lorend to do my bargaining for me, for he was clever and wily and might be able to save me some coin. But knowing that he would know I was buying a gift for my lover, and the mischief he could make with that knowledge, made me decide to do my own haggling. Sometimes, the best price is not the most important consideration!  
  
Dusk had fallen, and the stars were beginning to appear when I reached Artisan's Street once more. Many of the shops were still open, taking advantage of the cooler weather of the summer evening, and there were actually more shoppers about than there had been in the heat of the day. I had been fearful of disturbing Master Taleroth's supper, but I found him sitting on the wall outside of his shop, chatting with the whitesmith. He waved in greeting when he looked up and saw me approaching.  
  
"My lady! Have you come for the harp so soon then?"  
  
"I found some....funding, good master. I wish to know if we can make a trade."  
  
"A trade?" He seemed a bit doubtful, but was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. Bringing out the leather bag, I started to spill its contents forth, but he halted me with an upraised hand. "Not here. Inside. You do not wish to display that much wealth even in this part of the city." I followed him into his shop, and his friend the whitesmith did as well. There, amidst instruments hanging upon walls and sitting upon shelves, their varnish glowing in the lamp-light, he indicated his counter. I opened the bag once more, and spilt the contents forth there.  
  
He swiftly counted the coin, did a mental subtraction in his head between the price he had asked and the coin, then hefted the necklace thoughtfully in his hand.  
  
"'Tis Haradrim work," the whitesmith commented. "How did you come by it, lady?"  
  
"'Twas spoils of war," I explained, "taken from the Haradrim who entered Ithilien. Most of it was sent to the City, but Lord Faramir saved out some pieces for his men, and at the end of the war, he divided them amongst us." At the whitesmith's curious look, I added, "I was one of Lord Faramir's Rangers." He seemed doubtful of my claim, but Master Taleroth suddenly looked me up and down very intently, concentrating particularly upon the sword hanging at my hip, then grinned, as if remembering a good joke.  
  
"There is a story circulating about the City," he said, "a tale of the retreat. 'Tis said that there was a woman among the Rangers, and that she saved Lord Faramir, standing over him when he fell until the knights of Dol Amroth could reach him. I thought it a fantasy, a sort of Gondorian re-telling of the tale of the Lady of the Shield Arm. Now I am not so sure." I flushed under his scrutiny, and he stared at my cheek. I suspected that the scar showed white anytime I blushed. "Is there truth to the tale, lady?"  
  
"Aye, master, there is," is all I said, but he sighed as if in satisfaction.  
  
"I stayed here during the siege, to do what I could to protect my own, though I sent my family away," the harp-maker commented off-handedly. "I remember the retreat, and the Prince bringing Lord Faramir back into the City. I was there, you see, down by the Gate when he did so. Many of us had been on the walls, watching the retreat and the sortie, cheering our soldiers home. There were a couple of soldiers in the livery of the City with the Prince, but they were wearing odd cloaks, a sort of mottled green and brown. I noted them, and wondered at the time if they might be Rangers. The younger one's face was all over blood." My blush deepened, and I stared at my feet for a moment.  
  
"Who is the gentleman you wish to buy the harp for?" he asked gently.  
  
"The Queen's brother."  
  
"One would think that the Queen's brother could afford to buy his own instrument, rather than letting a soldier of Gondor beggar herself to do it for him."  
  
"I wish to make this gift to him!" I protested, looking up at him again. "And I do not beggar myself. I am in service to the Prince of Dol Amroth now, and my needs are met in full. Elrohir saved my life, brought me forth from under the Shadow when I lay ill in the Houses of Healing." Needless to say, I did not go into all the other things Elrohir had done for me......The harp-maker regarded me intently for a long moment.  
  
"Might I confer with my friend here for a moment?" he asked, indicating the whitesmith. I nodded, and stepped outside. There was murmured, unintelligible conversation for a time, then silence fell, and Master Taleroth beckoned me in, then over to the table where the harp now stood. He gestured that I should take it, and when I had done so, took up the necklace, shoved my coins into the pouch and the pouch back towards me, indicated that I should take them and proffered his hand to close the deal.  
  
I frowned. "I do not ask for charity, Master Taleroth."  
  
"And I do not give it," he replied easily. "My friend here has appraised your necklace as being close to the price of the harp. The balance that remains will be more than compensated for by the business I get when the court learns that the Queen's brother plays one of my instruments." When I still did not offer my hand, he smiled and asked, "Will you not let me express my thanks for your efforts to save my home and my Steward in this small way, lady? The difference is truly not that great."  
  
The line between prideful and churlish sometimes being vanishingly small, I finally nodded, thrust out my hand and shook on the deal.  
  
"I hope your gift brings Lord Elrohir many years of enjoyment, lady," he said. I grinned ruefully.  
  
"It is likely to bring him more years of enjoyment than anyone else!" The whitesmith and the harp-maker laughed, and I took my leave of them.  
  
************************************  
  
By the time I returned to the Citadel, full dark had fallen, and when I made my way up to my rooms, I found that Felith or someone else had left the lamp upon the mantle as usual, and that my bed was already occupied. Elrohir's black hair spilled like ink over the white linen, his eyes stared sightlessly upward and his chest rose and fell almost indiscernibly. Seeing him so deeply asleep, I wondered if perhaps his weariness was due to the fact that he had hastened back to Minas Tirith from Ithilien because he had felt my distress the evening of the wedding. Even upon Alagos, however, he would have been hard-pressed to reach the city before dawn as he said he had done. It was more likely that he had indeed simply tired of talking to trees.  
  
I very much wanted to give him his gift, but had not the heart to disturb him, so I placed it carefully in one of the chairs, did off my clothing, and slipped in beside him, spooning up close to his back. He turned over, murmured something inaudible, and threw an arm about me before immediately dropping back into a deep sleep. I closed my eyes and tried to follow suit.  
  
I woke from a dream of rain and falling water in the middle of the night to find my bed empty and music floating about the room. Sitting up, I found Elrohir, clad only in a pair of breeches, perched cross-legged in one of the chairs, the harp in his lap, playing with that look of pleasure once again upon his face. I settled back into the bed, smiling, and simply listened for a while. The rain in my dreams had apparently been inspired by the music he was playing which was rippling and playful, and indeed sounded very much like water falling. I was quite enjoying it when suddenly the music changed, became slower and more hesitant. A look in his direction showed that his demeanor had changed as well, become somehow both intent and distant at the same time.  
  
It took some time to figure out what he was doing, but after he repeated a passage three times, altering it a bit each time, then played it a fourth in combination with another passage, that I realized he was composing a piece of music. I had never heard someone actually creating a song before, and was fascinated. He worked upon it for some minutes more, than sighed and laid the harp aside.  
  
"That was beautiful," I said softly, and he looked towards the bed and smiled.  
  
"It may become so, in time. It has been rattling about in my head for a while now. Unfortunately, I don't know how it will end yet." His hand caressed the arch of the harp.  
  
"This served as something of a key, to let it out. Was it intended for me, or do you have a sudden desire to take music lessons?'  
  
"Music lessons for me would be a waste of time for all concerned!" I snorted. "No, it is a present for you."  
  
He got up and sauntered back over to the bed, sliding in beside me. "I seem to recollect you saying at one time that I had to let you give me things. But I am concerned about what you had to give to get this, for I am sure that it was dearly bought."  
  
"I gave nothing I could not afford and nothing I could not live without," I assured him. "Do you like it? I feared that it was nowhere near as good as an instrument made by your kin." He wrapped his arms about me, drawing me close.  
  
"Mortal Men are capable of creating great works as well, Snowsteel, despite things I may have said earlier to annoy you. For instance, that sword you bear is every bit as good as any Elven-smith could make; possibly even as good as a Dwarven-smith's work, though I wouldn't make boast of that to Master Gimli!"   
  
I chuckled. "You are avoiding my question."  
  
"No, I am expounding upon my answer, which is that the harp suits me perfectly well. I have not seen a cross-stringed harp in many, many years--my folk do not generally make them. Master Taleroth knows his craft--its tone is good, it is well-built and its design is very pleasing to the eye. I had contemplated going back for it myself, if you must know the truth of the matter."  
  
"Truly?"  
  
"Truly." He kissed the end of my nose. "And the fact that you gave it to me will only make me treasure it the more. Though I shall have to hasten to have a case made to protect it during the journey North." I sighed, saddened at the thought of our parting, and he gave me another kiss, this time upon the lips.  
  
"Well, at least I have something to remember you by, and you me as well," I said, and Elrohir nodded thoughtfully, loosening an arm so that he could trace my face softly.  
  
"And 'tis a most fitting gift, Snowsteel. Manwe's realm is the air and all that moves through it--music, arrows, giant feather-dusters and the white-haired women who talk to them. So my gift of the bow to you and yours of the harp to me have a pleasing symmetry."  
  
I cocked an eyebrow. "Is it so important that we be symmetrical?"  
  
"But of course!" he asserted with a twinkle in his eye, as he kissed me again, more deeply.  
  
"Then if we are going to be symmetrical...." said I, as I rolled him suddenly beneath me, "it is my turn to take charge. And while we're on the subject, whose realm does this fall under, anyway?"  
  
"Yavanna's, I think," he said with a straight face, beginning to stroke my back with his feather-soft hands.  
  
"Well! It wouldn't do to slight her, would it?"  
  
"Not in the least," my lover agreed.  
  
*******************************  
  
After an extremely restful night's sleep, I woke very early, and seeing that Elrohir was still resting, decided to go over to the stables at Dol Amroth and see Fortune and the filly. Taking him out for a ride, with her upon a long lead, I found both of them very fresh and rank, and I had to go out of the City completely and let them stretch their legs upon the Pelennor before they would settle. Upon returning, I found the sun higher in the sky than I would have wished, and groomed and put them away as swiftly as possible.  
  
Returning to my rooms, I found Elrohir having recently bathed, but still lounging about in a shirt and breeches, playing his harp once more. So I had a musical accompaniment as I hurriedly bathed and washed my hair, then stalked over to my wardrobe in my robe while it dried and agonized about what to wear to the Prince's lunch.  
  
I finally decided upon the yellow Elven outfit, and received Elrohir's approbation. Felith showed up and sent the brown boots off to be polished while she brushed my hair dry, and polished it with a silk cloth. I couldn't see that it made much difference, but she assured me that all the fine ladies were doing such to put a gloss on their hair. When she had finished, Elrohir asked if she would do his as well. She stammered, turned three shades of red, said it would not be seemly, and promptly left, only returning long enough to bring my boots when they were finished.  
  
"You must stop tormenting Felith, or I shall never be presentable again," I chided him. He just grinned unrepentantly.  
  
"It is not as if she has not seen me entirely unclothed."  
  
"She has, and she is trying to forget that, only you will not let her!" He shook his head.  
  
"Mortal Men and their odd ideas of what is modest," he sighed, with a much put-upon air. He'd spent more than enough time around Men in his life to understand them intimately, and was simply being mischievous, so I sighed and gave up on further argument. Despite his antics and Felith's absence, I was eventually dressed to my satisfaction and ready to depart.  
  
"How will you pass the day today?" I asked Elrohir, and he caressed the harp.  
  
"In the company of my new lady-friend, of course. Do try not to be jealous, buttercup." I laughed, kissed him and left.  
  
************************  
  
The Prince had not named a time, but I was careful to arrive punctually at the noon hour. Ushered into the house by a serving woman, she led me quickly through the various public rooms to the study where I had first spoken to the Prince about the trip to Lorien. As it happened, one section of what I had taken to be window was actually a door out into the garden, which was riotous with color in the late summer sun. Under some trees towards the back wall, a small table was laid with fine linens. Some dishes were set upon it already, and there were only two place settings. My host was nowhere in evidence, but the serving woman indicated that I should seat myself and departed.  
  
I sat down for a moment, but the beauty of the garden was very luring, so I got up, and began to examine the plants closest to the table more carefully. The only gardens I had grown up with were the large one that grew the vegetables we had depended on for food, and a patch in front of our house under the windows, where my mother had transplanted some wild flowers she had especially liked. Certainly, we had had nothing like the magnificence here. The roses in particular were extraordinary, and they smelled wonderful. Bees and butterflies in abundance seemed to share my opinion. I was sniffing a deep red bloom appreciatively, when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. Straightening up and turning about, I saw the Prince coming towards me, handing a sheaf of documents to a man who looked like a clerk, who bowed and departed back into the house.  
  
He was wearing a fine linen shirt, and another of the hobbit style of waistcoat, this one in a wine-red brocade, and black breeches and boots, and looked very comfortable and fine all at once.  
  
"Hethlin! It is good of you to come! I thought you might enjoy eating out here--it's not a picnic exactly, but hopefully it will serve."  
  
"My lord prince." I bowed, then moved to the chair he indicated and seated myself. He seated himself in the other, and I gave him a curious look. He seemed his usual amiable self, no sigh of nervousness or distress, though I thought he looked a little tired. He suffered the examination with good humor, and poured us both glasses of wine from a bottle that sat ready upon the table.  
  
"Your gardens are lovely, my lord."  
  
"I am glad that you like them, Hethlin. I wish I could take some credit, but truthfully, I have nothing to do with it. My gardeners are very knowledgeable and dedicated. I just loaf about, and from time to time suggest that I would like something in particular planted or something moved to a different location. They usually overrule me."  
  
His remarks reminded me of something, and I grimaced. "Oh bother, I forgot!"  
  
"Forgot what?"  
  
"Back before the wedding, when we had just returned to Minas Tirith, I went to my room and found all of the hobbits there. Master Gamgee was caring for the plants on my balcony. I promised him then that I would talk to you about letting him visit your gardens. He has apparently been most eager to do so."  
  
"You have not had much of an opportunity to speak with me about such things," the Prince said soothingly. "There has been so much else going on. But now that you have, I will issue him an invitation forthwith. Goodness, if he wishes to move in here he may for all of me--we owe him so much!"  
  
"So I feel as well. But he is very modest about it."  
  
"And our modest friend may have cuttings from anything he fancies here, or the plants themselves, if he thinks he can keep them alive all the way back to the Shire."  
  
"I am sure he would appreciate that, sir."  
  
"Then the matter is settled. I am glad you brought it to my attention, Hethlin. I shall send a note this very afternoon." Another serving girl, a different one, arrived then, laden with a tray that carried our lunch--a cold roast chicken and other cold meats, fine bread and butter and jam, fruits and salads and cheeses. It was quite an abundance of food.  
  
"Is someone else joining us?" I asked when she had gone. He cocked his eyebrow.  
  
"Why? Do you wish them to? Are you uncomfortable around me now?"  
  
"Of course not, sir! I was just wondering--it's rather a lot of food."  
  
The Prince laughed, and thankfully did not suggest that my appetite was equal to the task. "You don't have to eat all of it! Just whatever you like." And he proceeded to offer me each dish, serving portions onto my plate of the ones I indicated interest in. He then filled his own, but instead of eating right away, merely sat and sipped his wine, though he indicated that I should begin with a gracious gesture. I could not bring myself to eat just yet, though, and toyed with my fork for a moment.  
  
"Is something troubling you, Hethlin?"  
  
I hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, "Are you all right, sir?"  
  
He gave me a reassuring smile. "What do you mean? If you are asking if I am recovered from my recent injury then the answer is yes, I am feeling very much myself now. If you are asking if you ruined my life with your refusal of me the other night, then the answer is no, you did not."  
  
"It was the second question, sir."  
  
"I rather thought so." He pointedly picked up his own fork and addressed himself to his lunch, so I had no choice but to do the same. We ate silently for a little while, then Imrahil laid down his fork, took up his napkin and dabbed his lips.  
  
"The reason I asked you here today was to explain what is going to happen when the King goes to Rohan to escort King Theoden's body home," he said when he had finished. "I spoke with the King this morning, and with your grandfather, and it was agreed that you should travel in the funeral procession, but with the King's retinue rather than mine."  
  
"Is this because of what happened the other night?"  
  
"Partially," he admitted calmly. "But there are other reasons as well. It makes little sense for you to begin training as a Swan Knight if you decide to go North with your grandfather. And as I told you before, Andrahar will be accompanying me. You would not be able to begin your training in earnest until after the journey in any event, when you would be returning to Dol Amroth with several other new esquires. This way, you will be able to spend time with your grandfather, and have the freedom to make a choice as to what you wish to do."  
  
Here he paused and studied his plate for a moment, then lifted his eyes to meet mine once more.  
  
"You should also know that when I spoke to the King, I told him of what had happened between us. It is not my intention to make my interest in you public, for that would be doing you no service, but he needed to know."   
  
It took a moment for that to fully sink in. "You told the King that you had proposed marriage to me? And all the rest of it?"  
  
"Yes. And all the rest of it."  
  
"But why? That must have been very difficult for you."  
  
The Prince sighed. "It was one of the more.....uncomfortable...... interviews of my lifetime, yes. But it truly was necessary, Hethlin. My attraction to you, and my acting upon it, was a lapse upon my part and a failure to ward you as he had charged me to do. He needed to know that I had failed him and that this situation was neither of your making nor your fault. He may tell the Queen, but I think she can be relied upon to hold her tongue. Master Andrahar knows as well, for I have always been unable to keep anything a secret from him, and Faramir, but no one else, including my children. And I have heard nothing bandied about the court in the last day, so I believe we are safe enough there."  
  
"There weren't any courtiers at the wedding to find out. A few of them peeked in early on, but then they fled in terror of the Rangers," I said. The Prince chuckled softly, his expression lightening. My brow creasing, I asked, "You told Faramir as well?"  
  
Imrahil nodded. "He visited me yesterday shortly before lunch, and confronted me about what had happened. I deemed it best to be straightforward. I will say that he was as shocked and surprised as I have ever seen him."  
  
"He sent me a note yesterday afternoon, asking me to dinner at his house tonight." The Prince looked both surprised and pleased.  
  
"Did he? Will you go then?"  
  
"Aye. I owe him too much to refuse."  
  
"Just keep in mind--he owes you a great deal as well."  
  
"I will not forget it, sir." We resumed eating at that point, and there was silence for a time, then he took up the conversation again, deftly easing it onto less personal subjects, some humorous happenings at court that he recounted with his usual verve. Like Elrohir, he was always entertaining, and I fell to pondering what it would be like to sit across the table from him every day, to wake up beside him every morning and lay down beside him every night. To walk these gardens, and the ones at Dol Amroth, which according to him were much larger and more magnificent, as the mistress of all I surveyed. To have more of those scorching kisses whenever I wished......  
  
"Hethlin? Hethlin?" came the amused inquiry. "Am I boring you?"  
  
I stammered a bit, embarrassed at being caught daydreaming. "Oh... no, sir--I was just wondering about something."  
  
"And what was that?"  
  
"What will you do if I go North?" His eyebrows rose.  
  
"Do? Why nothing at all. Nothing for me will change. I will still have my family, and my duties to the King, and to my people." Imrahil's mouth curled up then at the corners in that wry way of his. "Despite the fact that I live in a principality where you cannot turn about without tripping over a minstrel, I have never enjoyed stories about people who pine away for lack of love. I always feel as if they are just looking for an excuse not to get on with their lives." My expression must have shown my doubt, for he continued a bit more forcefully.  
  
"Hethlin, I have survived watching a woman I loved die in a painful and prolonged manner. I am certain that I could survive watching another woman I love find happiness and love in a far-off place."  
  
"And if I decide to come back to Dol Amroth?"  
  
"Then you still will not see very much of me, for if you do stay, I will probably leave Dol Amroth's governance in Elphir's hands, and spend most of my time in Minas Tirith until you have completed your training. There are many things I can do here to aid the King and Faramir until they are both more comfortable in their new roles, and it will be better for you if I am not there."  
  
Frowning, I declared, "I do not like the idea that I am driving you from your home, my lord!"  
  
"I have a home here as well, my lady. And I would have been spending a great deal of time here in any event. You are hardly 'driving me away'! You must decide what is best for you to do without concerning yourself about me, but you must also let me decide how best to manage things for myself." That made rather a lot of sense, so I nodded my agreement. "After my training, what then? Will you come back home then?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And then what happens?"  
  
"That depends upon you." He laid down his fork and leaned back in his chair, giving me the piratical look. Remembering the kiss, I promptly started turning pink again, and he chuckled. "I have already spoken my mind to you, Hethlin, and you have spoken yours. Until you tell me that your heart has changed, I am your liege lord only."  
  
I bowed my head in acknowledgment. "Very well, my lord." Imrahil leaned forward once more and cleared his throat. When I looked back up at him, he grinned roguishly.  
  
"If, of course, you should change your mind sometime in the near future, feel free to bring me the news at any hour of the day or night." His eyes were twinkling, and I couldn't help but smile in response.  
  
"Aye, my lord." We addressed ourselves to our lunch again, once more discussing inconsequential matters until the clerkly man returned and declared that the King had summoned the Prince for an afternoon council.  
  
"Would you care to remain, Hethlin, and finish your lunch?" Imrahil asked me. "Or may I escort you back to the Citadel?"  
  
"Oh, I am quite finished, sir. I thank you for a lovely lunch and will return with you if I may."  
  
"Very well then." He rose, came around to my chair and politely escorted me back to the Citadel. As we approached the building, I spied a tall, lean figure leaning against the wall outside, smoke rings rising from a long-stemmed pipe. Several courtiers hovered uneasily at a distance, baking in the sun but unwilling to give up an opportunity to do a service or curry favor. Aragorn was clad in an elegant summer-weight tunic of grey silk, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the way he'd shoved the sleeves up to the elbow, and opened the collar because of the heat.  
  
"Cousin," he greeted me.  
  
I bowed in return. "Sire."  
  
"My lord prince," he saluted Imrahil, who also bowed.  
  
"Sire. I was just explaining to Lady Hethlin about the journey to Rohan, and her place in your retinue."  
  
Aragorn nodded. "I thank you, Imrahil." He then fastened his intent grey eyes upon me. "Hethlin, you will be escorting my wife. Arwen is looking forward to your company upon the journey."  
  
"It will be good to spend time with her again, my lord." Giving me a piercing once-over from head to toe, he nodded abruptly. I wondered suddenly what the King truly thought about the situation, whether he did hold me blameless as the Prince had claimed. "Very well then," he told me, "I will leave the captain of the Guard to give you the details. You will be reporting to him. I suggest you stop by his office tomorrow." He then turned his attention to Imrahil, staring at him for a long, long moment. Aragorn's gaze was elf-like in that it was difficult to meet when he was being his most commanding, but Mithrellas' descendent proved himself equal to the task, lifting his chin and meeting his liege lord's gaze steadily.  
  
"It is good that you are here, my lord prince," said the King at last. "The Haradrim ambassador is being difficult again, and I need someone to quote desert poetry and platitudes back at him and smooth him over, before I take a blade to him out of pure frustration...." I decided I had been dismissed, and escaped while I still could. 


	52. The Fight

I arrived at the front door of the Steward's House at the appointed hour, and stared up at it with some trepidation. It was some of the oldest architecture in the City, and there was a severity about it that, while not graceless, was certainly not as welcoming as Prince Imrahil's home. I rang the bell and waited, my stomach in a knot, for I was truly dreading this interview. Nothing happened immediately, and I was just reaching for the bellpull again when the door opened slowly and an elderly serving woman peered out.  
  
"May I help you?" she asked a bit abruptly, and the way her eyes traveled up and down me indicated she wasn't sure what to make of me at all.  
  
"I am Lady Hethlin of Anorien. I am to dine with the Steward tonight," I explained, and her face lightened somewhat, though I thought she looked distressed or perturbed about something.  
  
"Oh yes! You are expected, my lady. Do come in." She opened the door, and I stepped inside, staring about curiously, for it was the first time I'd ever set foot in Faramir's house.  
  
Deep red carpets deadened the sound of my footsteps and dark paneling enclosed the main hall. It was a gloomy entranceway. Cheerful conversation would be impossible in such a room, you would be expecting any happy chatter to bring the ghosts of past Stewards out of walls and doorways to chastise one for disturbing their dignified slumber. Following the maid down the hall, I noticed a bookcase filling the wall at the end, with books in many tidy rows, and my heart lightened a bit. That seemed more like Faramir. She turned a corner, and we proceeded down another hall decorated like the first, past several doors until she stopped before one. I could hear the muffled sound of voices within.  
  
"His Lordship has a.......guest, but I do not know if he will be staying for dinner or not," she explained, seeing my curious look. I wondered if Faramir had thought he needed a chaperone, or some person to mediate between us. If so, I did not much appreciate it, and I hoped that it was not his uncle, or the King.  
  
The maid then opened the door, and stuck her head into the room.  
  
"The Lady Hethlin of Anorien, sir," she announced.  
  
"By all means, let her come in," came Faramir's response. I noted with some relief that he sounded cordial enough. The maid dropped me a curtsey and departed. Reluctantly, I moved into the room, then stopped just beyond the doorway in surprise.  
  
The room was a library, the walls covered from floor to ceiling with shelves full of books. The paneling here was lighter than that I had seen in the rest of the house so far, and it gleamed gold in the lamplight. The carpet too was an improvement-- a restful dark green. It was a very pleasant room, quite welcoming. There was a fireplace, unlit in the late summer heat, and several chairs and tables were scattered about. One of the tables had a chessboard on it, and seated at the table, intently engaged in a game, glasses of wine at their elbows, were Faramir and Elrohir. Elrohir looked up at me and smiled, and I bit back a gasp, for his nose was quite obviously broken.  
  
"Hello, Snowsteel," he said cheerfully, in a somewhat congested tone of voice.  
  
"Hello, Hethlin," Faramir greeted me as well, keeping the left side of his face averted. His demeanor was not quite so happy, but he did not seem angry either.   
  
I looked the scene over a little more carefully and noticed that the two pairs of hands upon the table were both quite abraded, swollen and bruised about the knuckles. And taking a swift step sideways, I finally got a look at the left side of Faramir's face, though he tried to keep me from doing so by turning his head away. His eye was swelling shut, and he was going to have a huge, rainbow-colored bruise by morning.  
  
"Have the two of you been FIGHTING?" The evidence that they had was no more shocking than what came next. Faramir looked at Elrohir. Elrohir looked at Faramir, and spoke first.  
  
"I would not call it fighting, Snowsteel. More like the expression of strongly-held opinions."  
  
"We are, after all, men of deep conviction," Faramir added blandly.  
  
"Beings of deep conviction," Elrohir amended. Faramir acknowledged this correction with a nod.  
  
"It should come as no surprise that discourse between such beings could become somewhat......heated," the Steward of Gondor explained in the most reasonable of tones.  
  
"Indeed," Elrohir agreed. "But that being said, after we had aired our .....opinions....we were able to find some common ground to agree upon."  
  
"We are both interested in music, for instance," remarked Faramir, looking the board over in a clinical manner.  
  
"And epic poetry," Elrohir added, cocking an eyebrow and moving a pawn. Faramir, seeing him commit himself, smiled an evil smile, moved his hand over a piece to shift it, then paused suddenly, frowning.  
  
"We both also like to play chess." His voice became abstracted, his eyes distant as he calculated possible moves.   
  
"And one of us is even good at it," quipped Elrohir. Faramir shot him an irritated look, then turned his attention back to the board. My lover got to his feet with something less than his usual flowing grace.  
  
"You may need some time to work your way out of that one, my lord Steward," he said, smiling. "And I have outstayed my welcome now that your dinner guest is here."  
  
"Oh, were you welcome? I don't recollect," murmured Faramir, and I stared at him in astonishment. Such open rudeness was hardly his usual manner, and what came next was even more unbelievable. "Do you truly wish to finish this game at some point? Or shall we leave it as it is?"  
  
"Tomorrow evening, perhaps?" suggested Elrohir, seemingly unoffended. Faramir nodded. "I shall return after dinner then, Prince Faramir. Perhaps you will have found a way out of your dilemma by then."  
  
"It will not take me so long as that by any means, Lord Elrohir. You will have to look to yourself tomorrow night."  
  
"We shall see. A good evening to you, Prince Faramir, Snowsteel. Enjoy your dinner." He got all the way to the door and was halfway through before the irresistible impulse to twist the knife overcame him. "Providing you can actually chew it, of course." He slipped immediately into the hall afterwards, but still heard Faramir's voice floating after him.  
  
"I do hope that you don't encounter your father or the King with that nose in the condition it is in." A muffled chuckle drifted back to us, and I could hear the sound of the maid showing him out.   
  
The Steward of Gondor then looked up at me unrepentently out of his black eye, and I suddenly realized that even though I had spent four years in the company of two hundred men, and had thought that I knew all there was to know about masculine nature, there were still going to be times when I did not understand men any better than my more sheltered sisters. This was immediately confirmed by his next remark.  
  
"What happened to YOUR face?" he asked.  
  
************  
  
Lothiriel was what had happened to my face. Escaping the King's scrutiny by fleeing into the Citadel, I had only just left the Prince's company when I encountered his daughter within. Lothiriel was chatting with some other ladies, but when she saw me, she waved and indicated that I should wait for her with a gesture. After bidding her friends good-bye, she came over to me with a smile.  
  
"Hethlin! How are you?"  
  
"I am well, my lady. And you?"  
  
" Very well, thank you. I needed to speak to you, so it is good fortune that I found you here. May we go up to your rooms?"  
  
"Of course." It would hardly be politic to refuse my liege lord's daughter's request, though I was both curious and uneasy about her chosen topic of conversation. She spoke of nothing of consequence as we traveled upstairs, merely chatting lightly about court happenings instead. I tried to keep track of who figured in her stories and in what way. Such information might one day prove useful. Father had always been fond of saying that when one traveled to a new country, one should always avail oneself of a native, to learn the foibles of the climate and the plants and creatures who lived there from an expert. If there was any more expert native in the courts of Minas Tirith than Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, I did not know the person--other than, of course, her father.  
  
And not surprisingly, he was what she wanted to talk to me about. Once within the privacy of my rooms, she settled into one of the chairs with the grace of a blossom drifting down to float upon the water, her skirts in smooth and ordered folds about her, and gave me a very direct, though still charming, smile.  
  
"I was hoping to discover from you exactly what went on at the wedding the other night, Hethlin," she said, "since Father is being totally silent upon the matter. My brothers and I tried to question him a bit about it last night at dinner, but he would not tell us anything! He kept changing the subject, and he had even invited Cousin Faramir to dinner as a reinforcement!"  
  
"A reinforcement?" I asked, curious.  
  
"Oh yes! I suspect he's told Faramir everything. They're tight as two halves of an almond, Father and Faramir, always have been. It quite annoys Elphir at times."  
  
"Does the Prince truly favor Faramir above his own son? That doesn't seem like your father. He loves you all very much."  
  
"Not favors him, exactly. It's simply that Uncle Denethor was always so hateful to him that Father feels he has to make an extra effort on Faramir's part. And since we already know that Father loves us, Faramir takes precedence." She paused suddenly, and her eyes narrowed in a way that reminded me very much of Eowyn. "You're doing it too!"  
  
"What?" I asked with what I hoped was convincing bafflement, though I suspected I knew what I was about to be accused of.  
  
"Changing the subject!"  
  
"Oh. I'm sorry." I wasn't particularly, but I settled back into my chair and tried to look both comfortable and contrite. Lothiriel's air of suspicion did not abate.  
  
"Come now, confess! Why did Father kiss you? Did you ask him to? Did you like it when he did? It would seem," and here the Princess's fair cheeks reddened a bit, "that Father is a very good kisser, given his performance at the wedding. I have heard tales of his scandalous youth before, of course, but I never really believed them. After the other night, they become much easier to believe."  
  
"He told me once that he had been quite a rogue in his younger days," I said slowly, thinking my way through things with care. That I would have to tell the Princess something was clear, and I did not wish to lie to her. But I did not wish to reveal the full extent of her father's affection for me either, as it would do neither him nor I any service, and make both of our lives difficult. "Has it never occurred to you, Princess, that he might be reluctant to speak upon the subject because he was embarrassed?"  
  
"Embarrassed?" She did not look convinced.  
  
"Indeed. He apologized to me afterwards, told me that he had been overcome by the drink. The Rangers brew some really vile stuff up there in the hills, and they brought a keg of it down with them to the party. It's generally best not to ask what is in it. He gave it a try, at their insistence, because he wanted to be friendly. Lord Elrond had warned him that because he'd been ill, he might not have much tolerance for drink, and so it proved to be. Between that and all the beer and other things, he became intoxicated, and kissed me when he caught me out of the dance." Casting a glance in Lothiriel's direction, I found her giving me a dubious look, and decided that further explanation was necessary.  
  
"So, your father was somewhat drunk, and I think he also wanted to get back at me a little. You see, he was always referring to himself as if he had one foot in the grave on our journey to Lorien, and I got tired of it." The Princess nodded, sudden comprehension on her face.  
  
"I know. He does that to me, every time I suggest he find a lady friend. I hate it so!"  
  
"I hated it as well, for it is truly ridiculous behavior on his part, and told him more than once that he ought to stop acting like that. So I think that he kissed me to show me what he was capable of, should he choose to do so. And yes," and here my cheeks got pink in their turn, "your father is a very, very good kisser." That last little personal detail seemed to have finally persuaded Lothiriel, for she relaxed and relented.  
  
"I wish he had meant it for real," she complained, a frown-line marring her pretty brow. "I was so hopeful, for a moment there.....I don't suppose I could persuade you to try to get him to court you in earnest? You are the only lady I have ever seen him treat like that."  
  
I gaped at her. "Princess, consider what you are saying! His wife would be the Princess of Dol Amroth! My blood may be good, but I am but a rough, unlovely girl, ill-suited to such a role! Not to mention being considered odd and fey by the court! Besides, as his esquire, it would hardly be appropriate for me to pursue him in such a manner. It would reflect badly upon him, and upon me as well. He has taken great pains to assure me that his actions will not affect my training in Dol Amroth, and I cannot try to take advantage of my situation there in such a way. If I did, I would be no better than those girls at court whom you despise because of their plots to attract him."  
  
"No, I suppose you could not court him as his esquire," Lothiriel admitted reluctantly. She seemed almost sorrowful that she could not persuade me to pursue her father, which surprised me a bit. I would have thought that the idea of him marrying a woman her own age would have repulsed her. Another thoughtful frown crossed her countenance, then she steepled her manicured fingers exactly as her father was wont to do, and gazed at me speculatively across the tops of them. I felt an instinctive prickle of alarm.   
  
"'Rough and unlovely', are you? Well, at least I can do something to help you amend that! After all, the King wished you to acquire polish, did he not? And I am sure that you would prefer my methods to my great-aunt's!"  
  
"There is no doubt that I would, princess, but surely there is no hurry! Your father says that my training will not truly begin until we return from Rohan."  
  
"Your training in arms must wait till then, 'tis true, but there is no reason to delay the polishing! Trust me, Hethlin, I know how arduous the esquire training is! It would benefit you to make a start on your instruction in courtly manners now, while you have a little time to spend upon it."  
  
I stared at her, dismayed. While what she said made perfect sense, it was not something I was eager to do, particularly since I had not decided if I even wished to go to Dol Amroth. On the other hand, such knowledge was something that might be useful to know no matter what I decided. "How did you propose to start?" I asked at last.  
  
Lothiriel smiled, a pleased look upon her face, and rubbed her hands together in anticipation. I felt another of those prickles of alarm. "Well! To begin with, I am ordering you to stop cutting your hair! You are a woman, not a man, and if you ever hope to pass as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, you need to have hair to do it with. Besides, yours is lovely--so thick and such an extraordinary color!"  
  
I wrinkled my nose at her. "Surely you jest! It looks like an old woman's hair."  
  
"It looks," she corrected me somewhat severely, "like snow in the sun! You have no idea what an advantage it will be! The court is full of ladies with raven tresses. You, and Eowyn when she comes here, will stand out amongst all the dark heads."  
  
"And it's a good thing to stand out?" I asked, dubious about the whole business.  
  
"Indeed it is! Had you plans for the afternoon?"  
  
"Not exactly. I am having dinner with the Steward tonight, so I had thought to perhaps get a bath a little later, then decide what I was going to wear." Lothiriel almost bounced with glee.  
  
"Dinner with Cousin Faramir? Oh, this is most excellent! I had thought to have you with me at court tonight, but that will serve equally well. We will make you pretty for your dinner with him." Visions of being shoehorned into someone's borrowed dress for the occasion and subsequently tripping over my feet to Faramir's amusement or derision or even contempt at what he might interpret as a clumsy seduction attempt, made my voice very flat as I said, "Making me pretty for Faramir is a waste of your time, my lady. He has eyes for no one but the Lady Eowyn. And I will not wear a dress tonight."  
  
Being somewhat familiar with that tone in my voice already, Lothiriel did not press the issue. "Very well. I was not proposing that you wear a dress--the one that is being made to your measure is not finished, and it is a day dress in any event. But I can do some things that will help you look very nice, and is that such a bad thing?" She winked conspiratorially. "Let him know what he missed out on."  
  
Now that was an idea that actually held some appeal for me. "Very well, my lady. What shall we do?"  
  
"First, we will ring for Felith. She has some things that I need."  
  
************  
  
Felith, when she arrived, was immediately drawn into a whispered conference with the Princess. Her looks of alarm and the fearful glances she cast in my direction did not fill me with confidence, but in the end she must have decided to do whatever Lothiriel had bidden her to, for she vanished again.  
  
"So--what were you intending to wear?" Lothiriel asked, moving to my wardrobe and throwing the doors open.  
  
"I like the Elven clothing best, but I wore this yellow suit to lunch with your father today, and somehow I think it would be cheeky to wear green to dinner with the Prince of Ithilien. Which leaves the silver-grey."  
  
"It would go well with your eyes and hair," Lothiriel commented, running a hand appreciatively over the cloth. I nodded.  
  
"Or there is a dark red suit of clothes in there that Elrohir picked out for me back when I needed some new things. I like that one as well."  
  
"That is very nice," the Princess concurred, "but the grey is more summery. I think you should wear that."  
  
"As your highness commands, then." She turned to look at me with a wry smile.  
  
"Goodness, but you are much easier than I am! It can take me hours to decide what to wear sometimes."  
  
"Well, you have four wainloads of clothes! I have only these. Perhaps if you were to narrow your selection, your choices would come easier." It was pert of me, but not only did she not take offense, Lothiriel actually laughed.  
  
"So my father says! Not that he has any room to talk--you should see the size of HIS wardrobe! I come by my love of fine clothing honestly--it is in my blood!" At that moment Felith returned, after a knock on the door and a tentative peek into the room. She was carrying a carved wooden case of some size with her.  
  
"Aha! Here is Felith with her box of tricks!" the princess exclaimed with pleasure. "You know what I need, Felith." The maid nodded, and gave me another of those fearful looks. Lothiriel pursed her lips. "I said that I would do it, Felith! Now, call for a bath for your mistress, and see to her silver-grey suit there, and the boots that go with it. She has a dinner date tonight."  
  
I was hardly Felith's mistress, but she did not dispute the term, and rang the bell to summon servants to bring hot water, then opened the box, and gave something to the princess. Lothiriel gestured to me.  
  
"Take up that chair, Hethlin, and sit it and yourself down near the window. I need good light to do this properly." I moved furniture as I was directed, casting a look over my shoulder to the maid, who was gathering up my elven clothes and boots, and fleeing. Her reaction did not fill me with confidence about what was to come.  
  
"Sit down, Hethlin," Lothiriel commanded, a touch impatiently. She approached when I had done so, bending over and peering intently at my face. A delicate finger traced the line of my brows.  
  
"Aunt Tirathiel was being unkind when she described these as hedges, but 'tis true they could do with a bit of shaping. Your face will look ever so much better when this is done."  
  
I was about to protest that I was perfectly comfortable with my face the way it was, when the princess's hand darted out with the small, silver object she'd gotten from Felith's box, and I felt a brief, burning pain on my brow. Yelping, I almost jumped out of the chair, only to be restrained by Lothiriel's other hand firm upon my shoulder. The first pain was swiftly followed by others, each punctuated by a cry from me. Eyes watering, I looked up and discovered that what the princess held was a tiny pair of tweezers.  
  
After the fifth or sixth such cry from me, she paused, folded her arms and looked down at me in disgust.  
  
"Whatever is the matter with you? You've had most of your bones broken, you've been sliced open countless times, you've endured all sorts of torments! WHY are you carrying on so?"  
  
"Because this HURTS!" I wailed, blinking my eyes furiously. Lothiriel snorted disdainfully.  
  
"Stop being such a baby!"  
  
************  
  
I had begun relating this tale to Faramir in answer to his question, in a detached manner rather like the reports I had been used to giving him upon returning from patrol in Ithilien, for I was still not comfortable with him. When I reached this point in the narrative, he held up his hand.  
  
"Hold for a moment, my lady, if you please," he requested, and looking at him, I found he was shaking with suppressed laughter.  
  
"It's not funny," I growled.  
  
"Oh, I quite agree. The torments Thiri is capable of......You have my deepest sympathy!" He lost control of himself then, and began laughing out loud. Said laughs were punctuated with winces because of his sore face. I folded my arms and glowered at him.  
  
"'Torments' is a good word for it! You will not believe the things your cousin put me through this afternoon! And I don't believe any of it does a bit of good. I think it's just something noble ladies have come up with to pass the time."  
  
"You might be right," my former captain said, mastering himself after a moment and becoming thoughtful once more. "I've wondered about that myself upon occasion. Won't you sit down?" He had finally noticed that I was leaning against the door jamb. After a moment, I nodded, came over and took the chair Elrohir had vacated. He then got up himself, moving carefully as Elrohir had, to a side table to pour a couple of glasses of brandy for us. "What else did she do to you besides pluck your brows? Which do look nice, by the way. I am sorry if I made you think you looked ugly earlier. There was just something different about you, and I couldn't figure out what it was."  
  
Appeased, I spoke of how she had sent me into the bath with various unguents and preparations, and had explained through the door what was to be applied, and to what body part. Neither she nor Felith were courageous enough to suggest that they accompany me into the bathroom to oversee the application. When I came out, after having done as I was bidden, and having washed my hair, she and Felith took up where they left off.  
  
"Your uncle came looking for your cousin right in the middle of the worst of it," I told Faramir, as he seated himself once more, and offered me the goblet. "He found me in one of the chairs, in a robe with this muddy stuff smeared all over my face, and my hands in little bowls of oil. Lothiriel had told me I must not speak, that the mud should not be cracked before it had a chance to work. I have never felt more ridiculous in my life! The Prince stood over me with this sad look on his face. 'She told you it would smooth your complexion, didn't she?' he asked in the most mournful tone. 'I must apologize, Hethlin. Try as I might, I have never been able to break Amrothos of reading at the dinner table, or Lothiriel of smearing mud on peoples' faces.'"  
  
Faramir started laughing and wincing once more. "I can just see him! What did you do?"  
  
"Well, for a moment, I thought he was actually serious, and this was all some sort of weird game. I started to get up and protest, and Lothiriel told me to stay where I was and to be quiet. Then I noticed that he had that look on his face, you know the one, where he's pulling your leg?"  
  
"I am not unfamiliar with it," the Steward admitted, lips twitching.  
  
"So when I realized what was happening, I just relaxed and listened to Lothiriel give him a piece of her mind. Which she did, at some length. Eventually he left, she came back to me, and she and Felith spent the rest of the afternoon primping and painting me." I gestured up and down myself. "And here is the result. Now that I've told you about how I spent my afternoon, you should tell me how you spent yours. It appears to have been far more exciting than mine."  
  
"I would really rather not," Faramir said, serious once more, looking down at his goblet and twirling it between sore fingers.  
  
"Your hands are a mess! And they were just starting to heal up! Which one of you started it?"  
  
Directly questioned in that way, he deigned to answer me. "I fear that I did. The hitting part, at least. Your.....gentleman friend showed up at my office this afternoon, and was most insistent about having speech with me. It was close to the time I would have left for the day in any event, so I brought him here. We discussed several matters, and eventually he said something about Eowyn which I could not abide, so I hit him." A look of reminiscent satisfaction came over Faramir's face. "That was when his nose got broken. I had been wanting to hit him for a very long time, it seems, and once I got started, I found myself disinclined to stop. Needless to say, he did not simply stand there and let me do it. I fear that my best parlor is quite ruined, and my servants are still traumatized."  
  
"You won't tell me what made the two of you fight, will you?"  
  
"No, I won't." The forbidding Faramir was back of a sudden. I sipped my brandy.  
  
"Well, it was certainly the strangest thing I've ever seen, the way I found you when I came in. Are you honestly telling me that eventually you and Elrohir got tired of hitting each other and just started playing chess instead?"  
  
He shrugged. "That is truly what happened. We finally became so weary and out of breath that we didn't want to hit each other any more, and by some sort of unspoken mutual agreement, started talking. I must say that our little battle did seem to clear the air between us. I cannot say that I like him any better than I did, but he does not irritate me as badly as he used to." His lips curled up in a very pleased smile. "And looking at what I did to his nose over the next few days will do wonders for my tolerance where he is concerned."  
  
At that, I sat back in my chair, curled my hands about my glass, raised an eyebrow and just stared at him, shaking my head slowly. Noting my expression, he frowned.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Elves heal very quickly, my lord Steward. Remember how Elrohir helped my arm wound after that business on the Pelennor? All he had to do once he left here was pull the hood of his cloak up around his face, get back to his rooms in the Citadel, and send for Elladan to help him. It is not as if he has to be any place in particular either--he is simply the King's guest. He can hide in his rooms if he wishes. I will wager you that by the day after tomorrow at the latest, he will be quite presentable and bouncing about court as if nothing at all had happened. Whereas you, the King's servant, needs must go to work tomorrow looking like.....that." I gestured towards the black eye. "And you will take much longer to heal." After a moment's thoughtful consideration, I added, "Unless you ask the King to help you. But then you'll probably have to explain to Aragorn about the fight."  
  
Faramir stared at me for a moment in dismay, then groaned and clapped a sore hand over his good eye. "You're telling me that I've been had. That he could afford to let me break his nose because I would be the embarrassed party in the end."  
  
"Aye, my lord. Knowing Elrohir, I am pretty sure that is what happened." He dropped his hand, took up his own glass and drank deeply, then sat it back down again.  
  
"WHY do you sleep with him?" There was honest exasperation in his question.  
  
"Because you wouldn't." I had been wanting to say that for quite a long time, and he realized it. With a sigh, he gave me an almost pleading look.  
  
"Are you hungry yet? I am beginning to feel so. Would you not like to go into supper now?"   
  
I smiled graciously. I was beginning to feel better about the evening already. "Of course, my lord Steward." 


	53. The Promise

The dining room was every bit as gloomy as the entrance hall, a long room with a long table in it. Candles illuminated the end that Faramir took me to, but the farthest expanse of it was lost in dimness. Places were already laid for us, and the plate of the Stewards was very fine stuff indeed, shining as it did upon a table cloth of the finest damask. I was almost afraid to touch the table, or anything upon it. Faramir pulled out a chair for me, and I seated myself as he picked up a small silver bell and rang it.  
  
He saw the way I was looking around apprehensively, and smiled.  
  
"I did not ask you here tonight to frighten or intimidate you, Hethlin, and I wish for you to be comfortable. Would you prefer to eat in the garden?"  
  
That was a tempting prospect, but I did not wish to put him to so much trouble, and said as much. I also asked, impolite as it was--"Did you really grow up here?"  
  
"Yes I did," he replied without taking offense. "Though when I was a little older, after Mother had gone, both Boromir and I liked to slip down the hill to Uncle's house as often as we could whenever he was in town. It was a much friendlier place, and there we could shout and race to our hearts' content. Father did not appreciate such disturbances." He looked about the room himself for a moment, and smiled wryly. "It is not all so bad as this, Hethlin--there are a few chambers that are quite pleasant." I blushed darkly.  
  
"It is not my place to criticize your home, my lord. And it is certainly far more impressive than my own."  
  
"But it is not a very welcoming place, I will admit that. There are things I would change, and I will do them, but not until Eowyn comes here to stay, and has her say about how things should be arranged. I wish for her to feel at home here."  
  
"Of course, my lord. I am sure she would appreciate that." I strove to keep my tone as neutral as I could, but he cocked an eyebrow at me nonetheless. Servants entered just then, bringing us some light soup and salad to begin the meal, and poured wine for us. I considered asking them to water mine, as I had drunk some brandy earlier, but decided just to be cautious instead.  
  
Faramir toyed with his soup spoon for a moment, then steeled himself to get to the point. "Hethlin, what you said when we quarreled about Eowyn being a deserter bride was possibly one of the most hurtful things I've ever had anyone say to me. And if I may say so, I have to wonder if you were not looking at the situation through the eyes of jealousy when you said it." I looked at him, and frowned grimly.  
  
"Well, for my part, my lord Steward, I have no doubt that you look at the situation through the eyes of besotted love! The truth of the woman probably lies somewhere in between." He gave me a surprised look, and I continued. "I will not apologize for it, Faramir, and I won't take it back, for 'tis nothing that I did not hear from her own lips! And as far as hurting goes, you received no hurt from me till you had hurt me first with an accusation that had no founding in anything but your own fancy!" He held up an appeasing hand.  
  
"Peace, Hethlin! I did not ask you here tonight to demand an apology of you, but to give you one. What I said about you and my uncle was wrong, and I was wrong to have said it. You are both adults, and your personal lives are none of my business."  
  
"It was not that you were intruding into my personal business, but that you were willing to think ill of me when you had no reason to do so that offended me, Faramir," I declared, still rather angry. He nodded, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment. Eventually, he opened them and gave me one of his direct looks.  
  
"Point taken. Let me try this again. I apologize for my remarks about you and my uncle, and for implying that you were some sort of loose woman. Is that better?"  
  
"It is if you really mean it."  
  
"I would hardly SAY it if I did not mean it!" he began with some heat, then paused, seeing me sitting there with a very satisfied expression upon my face, and wagged a finger at me.  
  
"Obdurate wench!" I grinned, suddenly in a much better mood. Faramir shook his head with the air of one much put upon and applied himself to his soup. I followed suit. After a brief time of silence save for quiet slurping sounds, he looked up and addressed me again.  
  
"I will not dispute your opinion of my betrothed any further at this time, Hethlin. I suspect that this is one of those things we will have to agree to disagree upon. I am, however, somewhat concerned about how widely held that opinion is. Have many at court or in the City been naming her a deserter?"  
  
"Nay, my lord, none that I've heard," I responded quietly. "Of course, I am not the one to ask about the people at court. You would want Princess Lothiriel or your uncle for that. But all that I have ever seen her receive from the people of this city is love and admiration. She is the heroine who rode here and felled the Black Captain. It was in Rohan that I encountered the discontent. If you recollect, I told you when we quarreled that it was the disrespectful manner of some of the people at Edoras that made me ask her what the matter was, and caused her to reveal what happened at Dunharrow to me."  
  
"Yes, I remember that," he said slowly, the worry line upon his brow suddenly in evidence. "Was it very bad, Hethlin? Do you think someone would try to harm her? Should I try to convince her to leave Rohan earlier than we had planned?"  
  
"That I do not know, but what I saw was mostly the little folk, the servants and such. And she is the new King's sister. I cannot imagine people wishing to offend or anger Eomer." I smiled wryly. "You could use it as an argument to get her to return with you earlier, I suppose. It is hard to imagine how it could be worded nicely, but then, you are clever with those sorts of things. All that poetry and such."  
  
He pondered this for a moment, and I took a less than cautious drink of my wine.  
  
"Look at it this way. It's a good thing that they feel so. If she is loved here, and people are angry with her there, she is less likely to want to change her mind and stay."  
  
"I have been fearful that she would change her mind once she was home," Faramir admitted, apparently cheered by my reasoning and giving me one of his sweet smiles as he had been wont to of old. My heart turned over in my chest, and I suddenly realized something with a blinding flash of insight. All my wavering and indecision about what to do with my future was because I had not given up on him yet. I was not seeking actively to wrest him from Eowyn. That would have been an undignified and probably futile endeavor. But my inner self had recognized that there was the possibility that she would change her mind. It had not informed me of that fact; but then, my inner self was much like my father in that it seldom told me anything important in a timely manner. Eowyn had fallen into and out of love with Aragorn with lightning swiftness. It was possible that she might very well do the same with Faramir. And if she did, I intended to be there, newly ennobled and fertile, to console him.  
  
Servants came in then, bringing several covered dishes from which issued forth savory smells, and I bent my head over my plate to hide the elation in my eyes. Faramir inspected everything with a critical eye before allowing it to be served to me, and the time spent selecting and serving out the portions that I wished to eat enabled me to master myself. There was a beef roast and a couple of pheasants, and many fancy side dishes--he had gone to some trouble and expense to impress me. But he hesitated before passing me the platter with my pheasant upon it.  
  
"I am sorry, I had not thought. Are you allowed to eat this?"  
  
"Allowed? What do you mean?"  
  
"Elrohir explained a little about your friendship with the Eagles. Will they be angered if you eat of the flesh of birds?" I chuckled.  
  
"It doesn't work that way. Eagles eat pheasants, don't they? So I can eat pheasants too. What I can't eat is eagles and their kin, which is not much of a hardship. This is lovely! I'm sure it will taste almost as good as that chicken you sent down to us the night we returned to Minas Tirith." Faramir smiled reminiscently.  
  
"I remember that. Uncle shared his chicken with me, and truthfully, half a chicken more than suffices a man. A whole chicken between the three of you, however--I feared it would not satisfy, but little as it was, it sounded better than the turnip stew the butler proposed to feed you."  
  
"Oh, it was much better!" I agreed. "We were most thankful and appreciative, and Mablung and Lorend and I gnawed the bones and licked the crumbs from the table. There were plenty of other things with it as well. It was one of the best dinners I have ever had."  
  
"That is good to know, even now," he said, but his face darkened slightly, and it took me a moment to figure out why. Then I understood--the day after that cheerful feast, we had ridden to Osgiliath to begin the worst two days of his life. It was time to change the subject.  
  
"So...." I asked cheerily, "what else did Elrohir talk about besides the Eagles?" As I had hoped, a flicker of annoyance drove the melancholy from his countenance.  
  
"Elrohir," he declared, "spoke a great deal too much about a great many subjects. Including one subject upon which I thought I had final knowledge, but about which, it turns out, I was woefully uninformed. I refer, of course, to the journey to Lorien." I started, and paused with my fork halfway to my lips, but his ire, if ire it could be said to be, was not directed towards me.  
  
"Just yesterday morning, I asked Uncle Imrahil to give me a truthful account of what had happened during that journey. He had been most forthcoming about the other subjects we discussed and I thought he had been equally.....complete.... about it as well. That appears not to have been the case." His glance turned on me then, the Captain's look of old. I gave him the most guileless look I could manage.  
  
"Uncle had described his ordeal as being somewhat uncomfortable. Elrohir says he was in excruciating agony much of the time. Uncle described his condition when he arrived at Elrond's as rather debilitated. Elrohir says that death was imminent. Elrohir also admits that he and his brother wanted to put Uncle out of his pain--and that you would not let them. He further says that you nearly killed yourself calling the Eagle that took him to Lord Elrond. In short, you saved my uncle's life! Why, Heth, did you not tell me any of this when I was being a total ass at the wedding?" His exasperation and embarrassment were very obvious, so when I replied, I kept my voice as non-committal as possible.  
  
"I could not speak of any of it, because it would have violated the Prince's orders to me. Besides, it was as much Elladan's nursing as my help that saved your uncle. And if by now, after all that we have been through together, you still do not understand what sort of person I am, and what I am and am not capable of, then what good would my defending myself have done?" I looked at my fork, realized I was still holding it mid-air, and laid it back upon the plate. Faramir bowed his head, and nodded slowly.  
  
"I do appear to have made a serious lapse in judgment where you are concerned, Hethlin. Your Elrohir attributes that to my desiring you but being unwilling to admit it, and transferring my disappointment in my own lack of control to you."  
  
I was very surprised that he would admit so much. "Do you think he is right?"  
  
"I admitted that I had felt some attraction for you not so long ago, if you recollect, but he exaggerates the extent of the problem." Well! That was a backhanded sort of remark to make, and he realized it after a moment, for he winced and said, "I am sorry. That was rather unkind."  
  
I was unkind in my turn. "It is all right, my lord. I am beginning to become accustomed to it."  
  
He acknowledged the hit with a grimace and said, "You have always been one of the few people who would speak your mind to me, even across the gulf between commander and soldier. I should hate to lose that."  
  
"Then you must not turn on me when I tell you something you do not wish to hear," I said gently, "or I will cease to do so." He nodded, and addressed himself to his food for a time. I followed suit. Eventually, he spoke again.  
  
"Hethlin. About my uncle. For all that he is excessively over-protective of me--and I promise you I will be having words with him about his continued reticence about Lorien--he is the one person in the world I love the best outside of my immediate family. I do not think I would have taken his death well, following my brother's and father's as closely as it would have done. Thank you for saving his life."  
  
"You are welcome, Faramir. It was no hardship to do so." He gave me an imploring look.  
  
"He says that he loves you, and despite his age, he is a most admirable man. Can you not see your way clear to marrying him?"  
  
"I agree that he is a most admirable man. In fact, he is the man in Gondor whom I respect the most, and that includes you and the King. But he deserves nothing less than a woman who will love him with her whole heart, and I am not that woman at present."  
  
"Because you are still in love with me?"  
  
"Because I am still in love with you."  
  
"And what of Elrohir?"  
  
"Elrohir and I are.....difficult to describe. Friends, I guess."  
  
His eyebrow flew up again. It was getting quite a bit of exercise this evening. "Friends who just happen to share a bed?"  
  
"Aye. That's pretty much it. I cannot ask him to be anything else to me, or he will have to choose to be mortal and die like the Queen. He is too special for that. And I don't think he wishes to do so in any event."  
  
"Are you sure? Because based upon his actions here today, I am not so certain." I gave him a surprised look, but he ignored it and did not elaborate further upon what had happened that afternoon between the two of them. His voice was dry when he continued. "I will grant that he is certainly a...... unique individual, for all that he is a twin."   
  
I ate a few more bites, pondering what he had just said and wishing that I had some way of extracting the information I desired from him about Elrohir. In the end, I settled for asking him a question about something else entirely.  
  
"I will own I'm a bit surprised, Faramir. I would have thought that you and Eowyn would wish to wed almost immediately. But from what you told me earlier, it seems as if you are going to allow some time to pass before that happens." He nodded, and swallowed.  
  
"Yes. Eomer has agreed to the betrothal, and we are in fact betrothed now, but he has asked that we wait to make the public troth-plighting until after King Theoden's funeral. He does not wish it to compete with his uncle's barrowing, and he feels that it would cheer the folk afterwards. After that, we will wait a year until we are wed."  
  
"A YEAR? Why?"  
  
"That was Eowyn's idea. She says that her brother will need her at first, and I am inclined to agree. Eowyn has managed the domestic side of Meduseld since she was a very young woman. Eomer is going to have enough to do accustoming himself to his new and unexpected role as King without trying to find a new chatelaine as well." I grinned, and drank some more wine.  
  
"You should point out your cousin's many virtues to him, then. Lothiriel likes Eomer very much. Hasten her courtship and you may hasten the day of your own fulfillment along with it."  
  
He smiled. "I had thought she was looking upon Eomer with favor. It's a bit odd, really--he's not at all the sort I would have thought she would like. Too brash."  
  
"Oh, he has his good points," I said dryly. I then recounted to him the story of how Eowyn had first introduced him to me at that interminable awards court which had ended with my being sworn to his uncle, and about how he had tried to teach me the Rohirrim swear words at lunch, and how wrathful Eowyn had been. He laughed, his eyes twinkling.  
  
"I wondered why she was in such a bad mood when she returned after lunch! But she would tell me nothing save that I was not the cause of it."  
  
"She was very embarrassed. She wanted him to make a good first impression, because she was trying to play matchmaker."  
  
"Was she now? And is it in you to be the Queen of Rohan?" He looked rather intrigued by that prospect as he took up his cup and drank from it. I glowered at him.  
  
"You just want to be safely rid of me!" I growled. "Nay, I've no desire for Eomer. He's a nice enough fellow, really funny, and the Valar know he's a decorative sort, particularly first thing in the morning with only his breeches on." Faramir cocked an eyebrow at that. "But aside from that and the things he would do to you the night before, what would you do with him the rest of the day?"  
  
Whereupon the Steward of Gondor snorted wine up his nose, much to my satisfaction. "Honestly!" I chided him as he wiped his face with a napkin, and cursed and coughed, waiting for the burning sensation to go away. "You should listen to yourself! 'Heth, don't you want to marry my uncle?' 'Heth, are you sure that Elrohir is not serious about you?' 'Heth, how would you like to be the Queen of Rohan?' 'Heth, marry someone, ANYONE, PLEASE!'"  
  
"I truly did not mean to imply that," he managed to choke out after a moment, "though I can see where you would think it! I suppose that, having little family left of my own save for Uncle and the cousins, I consider my Rangers to be family of a sort, and would like to see them settled and happy now that the war is over. I want that for you most of all."  
  
"'Settled' and 'happy' may not both be possible for me. Too much Ranger blood. Besides, Grandfather says I am a little young to be thinking of such things."  
  
"Does he now?" His voice was still slightly strained, but another good cough finally cleared things up. "You're what--twenty-two ? That sounds old enough to me."  
  
"Ah, but the blood is purer up North, and they live longer. The Queen says I can expect to reach seven-score years, if my line of work doesn't end things sooner." Faramir looked both impressed and surprised at that. "And they grow a bit slower as well. Elrohir says I haven't done growing yet, and Grandfather says most Northern women don't seek a husband until they are thirty. Aragorn's mother was wed when she was twenty, and they thought her practically a child bride! It was almost a scandal!"  
  
"Aragorn's scandalous antecedents seem to be a subject dear to your heart!" my former captain declared with a grin. "I think I'll leave it to you to discuss such things with the King. You do it so very well!" I gave him a sour look, and he chuckled. "Does your disposition need sweetening? Shall I ring for desert?"  
  
As the dinner had been both lovely and large, I found that plan most agreeable, and told him so. Though when a tray arrived filled with enough honey-cakes and berry-tarts for six people, I accused Faramir of making mock of my sweet tooth.  
  
"Hardly," he said with the utmost gravity. "It is not mockery, but merely careful preparation. There are enough here for me for now, and for you for now, and for you to take a couple of napkins full with you in case you get peckish in the night.......Elrohir should be thankful." I snorted, but I also ate several of the cakes and tarts. He consumed a more moderate amount, watching me eat with a smile on his face. I looked over at him after finishing a berry tart, and wiping my mouth with a napkin.  
  
"I like it when we're this way a lot better." He nodded acknowledgment.  
  
"As do I."  
  
"So now that we're all easy with each other once more, I was wondering if I could ask you to do something?"  
  
"What would you have of me?"  
  
"I would have you refrain from telling your uncle that you know all about what he went through." A flicker of surprise crossed his face. "Faramir, you weren't there! The man was dying in agony, and the only things he was worried about were you, and his children, and even me! He made us all swear that we would not tell any of you about what had happened--he wanted us to lie, and to say that he'd been shot through the heart, and had not felt a thing. So we swore that we would. I'm sure that Elrohir will say that since he lived, the oath does not hold, but I will be taking Lord Peredhil to task about this nonetheless."  
  
Drinking deeply of my wine, I rushed to continue before Faramir could say anything. "The Prince also said that he wanted to ride on, to try to reach Lorien, even though he knew there was not enough time left to him to do that. The only reason he did that was so that I would feel better about not having given up on him. And he asked me to look after you for a while after he died, to make sure that you were going to be well. He was afraid that you had lost too many people that you loved. He said he thought that might be what had happened to your father." Faramir flinched at that, and his face darkened. He bowed his head over his cup, folded his fingers around it, and was silent for a long moment.  
  
"That last was something that Elrohir did not tell me," he said finally. "Uncle's is a generous spirit, possibly the most generous one I know. Very well, Heth, I shall not speak to him any further upon the matter."  
  
"I would appreciate that. You speak as if his protectiveness were a fault, but in this instance, I have to agree with him. What has been served by you finally knowing the true extent of his torment?"  
  
"I think that what Elrohir intended to accomplish was not to show me how my uncle had suffered, but to show me what an idiot I was being where you were concerned," came the Steward's wry response, "and he was certainly successful in that." I felt it safest not to comment upon that at all, and after a moment, he continued. "So--Uncle asked you to look after me, did he? Did you tell him you'd already appointed yourself my defender long ago? And would protect me even from myself?"  
  
"It did not come up," I said, puzzled. Faramir seemed very satisfied about something all of a sudden, and I could not figure out what it was. "He passed out after that."  
  
"Of course." He wiped his hands with his napkin, and pushed away from the table. "Would you care to play a game of chess?" he asked. I shook my head in fervent denial.  
  
"That would last all of three minutes! I know how good you are."  
  
"I thought that Uncle had been teaching you!"  
  
"He has. He just started. He beats me in five moves. You'd probably beat me in one, or just by sitting down or something." The Steward gave me a challenging look.  
  
"You might find it instructional."  
  
"No doubt," I said, wiping my own hands as well. "And humiliating. You ought to go play with the Queen. She's pretty good. She was giving your uncle a hard time."  
  
"I'll have to try her then. A new opponent is always welcome."  
  
"Could we go back to the library anyway? It seemed such a pleasant room. And I made a promise to you some time ago, and I need to carry it out."  
  
"What was that?" Faramir was intrigued, but I just shook my head.  
  
"If you do not remember, then I am not going to remind you. You will simply have to wait and see." We both rose, and he politely allowed me to precede him back to the library. Cool evening breezes drifted in through the open windows when we arrived, rendering the room even more pleasant than it had been earlier. "Would you sit on the couch please?" I requested politely, and he complied, albeit a bit stiffly. He'd been still long enough that his fight-abused muscles were locking up. He was going to hurt in the morning. "And shut your eyes," I added.  
  
That he did a little more slowly, and though he was smiling, I thought I also detected a little sudden anticipatory tension in his person. What did he think I was going to do, I wondered, suddenly swoop down and kiss him? Admittedly, it was a tempting idea. He seemed my Captain again, sitting there with his black eye and his poor battered hands folded in his lap, and not the high and mighty Steward of Gondor at all. But neither he nor I were the people we had been scant months before. He had risen from being the disregarded second son to the pinnacle of the kingdom's power before giving it up to serve another in a position of honor and respect. And he had found, against expectation, a woman he could love. Ill fortune for me that it had been Eowyn, but perhaps it would not prove so for him. I could wish him well in that regard while still nurturing my new-found hope that she would change her mind and release him.  
  
As for me, I was no longer the simple farmer's daughter I once had been. Ranger of Ithilien, cousin to the King, friend to Eagles, esquire to the Prince of Dol Amroth--who knew what else I could become, given a few months? Things had certainly changed since the day three Rangers and their Captain had ridden under Darkness to Minas Tirith.  
  
But for now, I had a promise to keep. Seating myself upon the other side of the couch, I glanced over at Faramir quickly, but he was minding his manners and keeping his eyes closed. He sighed softly and relaxed as he felt me settle onto the cushions.  
  
"How much longer am I to sit here, Heth?" he asked, though there was no impatience in his voice.  
  
"Give me but a moment, Captain," I said, and reached into my belt pouch for what I'd brought with me that evening, half-expecting to have to throw it at his head or return it with icy dignity, had things not gone well. He had given it to me at Osgiliath, and I had carried it with me ever since, through some of the worst and best days of my life, letting it leave me but once. Mr. Baggins had returned it but a couple of days before, with a sweetly worded note of thanks.  
  
I opened the swan-ship embossed cover and began to read, in what I hoped he would notice was vastly improved Elvish. "In Valinor, in olden days, the horses of the Hunter would roam, far and wide, over hill and dale, free and shining in the light of the Trees, and their life was good, and they were content. All save one, who was curious, and sought to know what existed in the wider world..."  
  
Faramir's eyes flew open. He looked over at me and laughed in delight. And for the moment, I was content.  
  
THE END  
  
Author's Note--This has been as long a journey for me as for Hethlin! I had no idea, when a friend first told me about ff.net in January of 2002, that I was about to embark on a quest that would gain me new friends all over the world! But then, Captain started by my saying to myself, "I would like to write a little story about Faramir. Just a couple of chapters long. There aren't many stories here about him......" The rest, as they say, is history, or perhaps more accurately, Hethtory.  
  
I owe thanks to a lot of people, some of whom were authors I read and admired, and were nice enough to review and encourage me, and others who have been faithful reviewers or expert consultants or beta-readers. Space, and a rapidly deteriorating memory prohibit me from listing them all here, but E.W., Miryam, Dwimordene, Soledad and Jillian deserve special thanks. My most extra-special thanks are reserved for two people: my partner in crime, Altariel, who shares my love of Poetry-Boy and puts up with my dislike of the Horse-Wench; and my partner in life, Michael, who puts up with my time-consuming obsession with a fictional girl and the series of incredibly interesting and attractive men in her life.  
  
To all my readers, thank you for your very kind remarks and support over the last two years. And no, this is not the end of Heth's adventures.......... 


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